HARPER'S  LIBRARY  OF  SELECT  NOVELS. 


Messrs.  HARPER  &  BROTHERS  beg  leave  to  call  attention  to  the  following  revised 
and  enlarged  list  of  their  "  Library  of  Select  Novels,"  and  to  the  reduced  prices. 

The  list  has  been  increased  in  number  and  interest  by  the  addition  of  many  works 
of  fiction  by  leading  novelists  of  the  day,  whose  productions  have  hitherto  appeared  in 
more  expensive  form  [see  numbers  493  to  595  of  accompanying  list].  The  series  has 
been  long  before  the  public,  and  its  interest  and  sterling  value  have  been  generally 
recognized.  Well-informed  readers  of  fiction  have  considered  the  appearance  of  a 
novel  in  this  series  to  be  always  a  guarantee  of  merit. 


TRICE 

1.  Pelham.    By  Buhver $  40 

2.  The  Disowned.     By  Buhver 50 

3.  Devereux.    By  Buhver 40 

4.  Paul  Clifford.     By  Bulwer 40 

5.  Eugene  Aram.     By  Bulwer 35 

6.  The  Last  Days  of  Pompeii.    By  Bulwer 25 

7.  The  Czarina.     By  Mrs.  Hofland 40 

8.  RienzL     By  Bulwer 40 

9.  Self-Devotion.     By  Miss  Campbell 30 

10.  The  Nabob  at  Home 35 

11.  Ernest  Maltravers.    By  Bulwer 35 

12.  Alice;  or,  The  Mysteries.     By  Buhver 35 

13.  The  Last  of  the  Barons.     By  Buhver 50 

14.  Forest  Days.     By  James 40 

15.  Adam  Brown,  the  Merchant.     By  H.  Smith  . . . 

16.  Pilgrims  of  the  Rhine.     By  Bulwer 

17.  The  Home.     By  Miss  Bremer 

18.  The  Lost  Ship.     By  Captain  Ntale 

19.  The  False  Heir.    By  James 

20.  The  Neighbors.     By  Miss  Bremer 

21.  Nina.    By  Miss  Bremer 

22.  The  President's  Daughters.     By  Miss  Bremer. . 

23.  The  Banker's  Wife.    By  Mrs.  Gore 

24.  The  Birthright.     By  Mrs.  Gore 

25.  New  Sketches  of  E  very-day  Life.  By  Miss  Bremer 

2C.  Arabella  Stuart.     By  James 35 

27.  The  Grumbler.     By  Miss  Pickering 35 

23.  The  Unloved  One.     By  Mrs.  Hofland 4'» 

2!).  Jack  of  the  Mill.     By  William  Howitt 20 

30.  The  Heretic.     By  Lnjetchnikoff 40 

31.  TheJew.    By  Spindler 50 

32.  Arthur.     By  Sue 40 

33.  Chatsworth.     By  Ward 30 

34.  The  Prairie  Bird.     By  C.  A.  Murray 60 

35.  Amy  Herbert.    By  Miss  Sewell 35 

30.  Rose  d'Albret.     By  James 40 

37.  The  Triumphs  of  Time.     By  Mrs.  Marsh 40 

33.  The  H Family.     By  Miss  Bremer 40 

39.  The  Grandfather.     By  Miss  Pickering 30 

40.  Arrah  Neil.    By  James 35 

41.  TheJilt 35 

42.  Tales  from  the  German 25 

43.  Arthur  Arandel.     By  II.  Smith 40 

44.  Agincourt.    By  James 40 

45.  The  Kegent's  Daughter 35 

4(5.  The  Maid  of  Honor 25 

47.  Safia.    By  De  Beauvoir 25 

43.  Look  to  the  End.     By  Mrs.  Ellis 40 

49.  The  Improvisator.     By  Andersen 30 

50.  The  Gambler's  Wife.    By  Mrs.  Grey 40 

51.  Veronica.     By  Zschokke 25 

52.  Zoe.   'By  Miss  Jewsbury 35 

53.  Wyoming 30 

54.  De  Rohan.    By  Sue 40 

55.  Self.     By  the  Author  of  "Cecil" 50 

5(5.  The  Smuggler.     By  James 50 

57.  The  Breach  of  Promise 35 

58.  Parsonage  of  Mora.     By  Miss  Bremer. 20 

59.  A  Chance  Medley.    By  T.  C.  Grattan 35 

60.  The  White  Slave 60 

61.  The  Bosom  Friend.     By  Mrs.  Grey 35 

62.  Amaury.     By  Dumas 25 

63.  The  Author's  Daughter.     By  Mary  Howitt. ...  20 

64.  Only  a  Fiddler!  &c.     By  Andersen 60 

C5.  The  Whiteboy.     By  Mrs.  Hall 40 

60.  The  Foster-Brother.     Edited  by  Leigh  Hunt.. .  40 

67.  Love  and  Mesmerism.     By  11.  Smith. 60 

65.  Ascauio.     By  Dumas 60 

69.  Lady  of  Milan.     Edited  by  Mrs.  Thomson 60 

70.  The  Citizen  of  Prague „ 60 

71.  The  Hoyal  Favorite.     By  Mrs.  Gore. .  .„. 35 

72.  The  Queen  of  Denmark.     By  Mrs.  Gore. 35 

73.  The  Elves,  &c.     ByTieok 48 

74.  75.  The  Step-Mother.     By  James 60 

7(5.  Jessie's  Flirtations 30 


P3ICE 

77.  Chevalier  d'Harmental.    ByDnmas $  35 

78.  Peers  and  Parvenus.    By  Mrs.  Gore 35 

79.  The  Commander  of  Malta.    By  Sue 25 

80.  The  Female  Minister 25 

81.  Emilia  Wyndham.     By  Mrs.  Marsh 40 

82.  The  Bush-Ranger.     By  Charles  Rowcroft 40 

S3.  The  Chronicles  of  Clovernook 20 

84.  Genevieve.    By  Lamartine 20 

85.  LivonianTa' 


ilaa. 


8G.  Lettice  Arnold.     By  Mrs.  Marsh 

87.  Father  Darcy.    By  Mrs.  Marsh 

88.  Leontine.     By  Mrs.  Maberly 

89.  Heidelberg.     By  James. 

90.  Lucretia.    By  Bulwer 

91.  Beauchamp.    By  James 

92.  94.  Fortescue.     By  Knowles 

93.  Daniel  Denison,  &c.     By  Mrs.  Hofland 

95.  Cinq-Mars.     By  De  Vigny 

96.  Woman's  Trials.     By  Mrs.  S.  C.  Hall 

97.  The  Castle  of  Ehrenstein.     By  James. 

98.  Marriage.     By  Miss  S.  Ferrier. 

99.  Roland  Cashel.     By  Lever.    Illustrated 

100.  Martins  of  Cro'  Martin.    By  Lever 

101.  Russell.     By  James 

102.  A  Simple  Story.    By  Mrs.  Inchbald 

103.  Norman's  Bridge.     By  Mrs.  Marsh 

104  Alamance 

105.  Margaret  Graham.     By  James 

106.  The  Wayside  Cross.     By  E.  H.  Milman. 

107.  TheConvict.     By  James 

103.  Midsummer  Eve.     By  Mrs.  S.  C.  Hall 

109.  Jane  Eyre.     By  Currer  Bell 

110.  The  Last  of  the  Fairies.     By  James 

111.  Sir  Theodore  Broughton.     By  James 

112.  Self-ControL     By  Mary  Brunton 

113.  114.  Harold.     By  Bulwer 

115.  Brothers  and  Sisters.    By  Miss  Bremer 

116.  Gowrie.     By  James 

117.  A  Whim  and  its  Consequences.    By  James 

118.  Three  Sisters  and  Three  Fortunes.    By  G.  II. 

119.  The  Di.-c'ipiine  of 'Life '. '. '. 

120.  Thirty  Years  Since.     By  James 

121.  Mary  Barton.    By  Mrs.  Gaskell 

122.  The  Great  Hoggarty  Diamond.     By  Thackeray 

123.  TheForgery.    ByJames 

124.  The  Midnight  Sun.     By  Miss  Bretner 

125.  126.  The  Caxtons.     By  Bulwer 

127.  Mordaunt  Hall.    By  Mrs.  Marsh 

128.  My  Uncle  the  Curate 

129.  The  Woodman.     By  James 

130.  The  Green  Hand.     A  «  Short  Yarn" 

131.  Sidonia  the  Sorceress.    By  Meinhold 

132.  Shirley.    By  Currer  Bell 

133.  TheOgilvies 

134.  Constance  Lyndsay.     By  G.  C.  H 

135.  Sir  Edward  Graham.     By  Miss  Sinclair 

136.  Hands  not  Hearts.     By  M  iss  Wilki  nson 

137.  The  Wilmingtons.     By  Mrs.  Marsh 

138.  Ned  Allen.     By  D.  Hannay 

139.  Night  and  Morning.     By  Bulwer 

140.  The  Maid  of  Orleans 

141.  Antonina.     By  Wilkie  Collins 

142.  Zanoni.     By  Bulwer 

143.  Reginald  Hastings.     By  Warburton 

144.  Pride  and  Irresolution 

145.  The  Old  Oak  Chest.    By  Jamea 

146.  Julia  Howard.     By  Mrs.  Martin  Bell 

147.  Adelaide  Lindsay.     Edited  by  Mrs.  Marsh 

148.  Petticoat  Government.     By  Mrs.  Trollope 

149.  The  Luttrells.     By  F.  Williams 

150.  Singleton  Fontenoy,  R.N.     By  Hannay 

151.  Olive.    By  the  Author  of  u  The  Ogilvies" 

152.  Henry  Smeaton.     By  James 

153.  Time,  the  Avenger.    By  Mrs.  Marsh 


Harper's  Library  of  Select  Novels. 


HARPER'S    Library    of    Select    Novels- 
Continued. 

154.  The  Commissioner.     By  James $  60 

155.  The  Wife's  Sister.     By'Mw.  Hubback 35 

156.  The  Gold  Worshipers 35 

157.  The  Daughter  of  Night.     liy  Fullom 35 

l.-.s.  Stuart  of  Dunleath.     By  Hon.  Caroline  Norton.  35 

159.  Arthur  Conway.     By  Captain  E.  II.  Milimm  . .  40 

100.  The  Fate.    By  James 40 

•      161.  The  Lady  aud  the  Priest.     By  Mrs.  Maberly. . .  35 

162.  Aims  and  Obstacles.     By  James 60 

lOiJ.  The  Tutor's  Ward 30 

164.  Florence  Sackville.     By  Mrs.  Burbury 50 

105.  Kavenscliffe.     By  Mrs.  Marsh 40 

166.  Maurice  Tiernay.     By  Lever 50 

167.  The  Head  of  the  Family.     By  Miss  Mulock ....  50 

108.  Darien.     By  Warburton 35 

lo'.i.  lalkenburg 50 

170.  The  Daltons.     By  Lever 75 

171.  Ivar;  or,  The  Skjuts-Boy.     By  Miss  Carlen...  35 

172.  Pequinillo.     By  James 40 

173.  Anna  Hammer.     By  Temme 40 

174.  A  Life  of  Vicissitudes.     By  James 25 

175.  Henry  Esmond.     By  Thackeray 60 

176.  177.  My  Novel.     By  Bulwer 75 

173.  KatieStewart 20 

179.  Castle  Avon.     By  Mrs.  Marsh 40 

180.  Agnes  Sorel.    By  James 40 

151.  Agatha's  Husband.    By  the  Author  of  "  Olive"  35 

152.  Villette.     By  Currer  Bell 60 

133.  Lover's  Stratagem.     By  Miss  Carlen 35 

184.  Clouded  Happiness.     By  Countess  D'Orsay 30 

185.  Charles  Auchester.     A  Memorial 50 

ISO.  Lady  Lee's  Widowhood 40 

187.  Dodd  Family  Abroad.     By  Lever 60 

183.  Sir  Jasper  Carew.    By  Lever 50 

189.  Quiet  Heart 20 

190.  Aubrey.     By  Mrs.  Marsh 60 

191.  Ticonderoga.    By  James 40 

192.  Hard  Times.     By  Dickens 25 

193.  The  Young  Husband.     By  Mrs.  Grey C5 

194.  The  Mother's  Recompense.     By  Grace  Aguilar.  50 

195.  Avillion,  &c.     By  Miss  Mulock 60 

196.  North  and  South.     By  Mrs.  Gaskell 40 

V.)7.  Country  Neighborhood.     By  Miss  Dupuy 40 

198.  Constance  Herbert.     By  Miss  Jewsbury 30 

199.  The  Heiress  of  Haughton.     By  M  re.  Marsh 35 

200.  The  Old  Dominion.     By  James 40 

201.  John  Halifax.    By  the  Author  of  "Olive,"  &c.  60 

202.  Evelyn  Marston.     By  Mrs.  Marsh 35 

203.  Fortunes  of  Glencore.    By  Lever 60 

204  Leonora  d'Orco.     By  James «.  40 

205.  Nothing  New.     By  Miss  Mulock 30 

206.  The  Rose  of  Ashurst.     By  Mrs.  Marsh 85 

207.  The  Athelings.     By  Mrs.  Oliphant 60 

'Jos.  Scenes  of  Clerical  Life 60 

209.  My  Lady  Ludlow.     By  Mrs.  Gaskell 20 

210,  211.  Gerald  Fitzgerald.     By  Lever 40 

212.  A  Life  for  a  Life.     By  Miss  Mulock 40 

213.  Sword  and  Gown.    By  Geo.  Lawrence 20 

214.  Misrepresentation.     By  Anna  II.  Drtiry 60 

215.  The  Mill  on  the  Floss.     By  George  Eliot 60 

210.  One  of  Them.    By  Lever 60 

217.  A  Day's  Ride.     By  Lever.     Illustrated 40 

218.  Notice  to  Quit.    By  Wills 40 

219.  A  Strange  Story.     Illustrated 60 

22(».  Brown,  Jones,  and  Robinson.     By  Trollope 85 

221.  Abel  Drake's  Wife.     By  John  Saunders 60 

222.  01  i ve  Blake's  Good  Work.     By  J .  C.  J  eaffreson .  60 

223.  The  Professor's  Lady.     Illustrated 20 

224.  Mistress  and  Maid.     By  Miss  Mulock 80 

225.  Aurora  Floyd.     By  M/K.  Braddon 40 

230.  Barrington.     By  Lever 40 

227.  Sylvia's  Lovers.     By  Mrs.  Gaskell 40 

228.  A  First  Friendship 25 

229.  A  Dark  Night's  Work.     By  Mrs.  GRskell 25 

230.  Countess  Gisela.     By  K.  Marlitt     Illustrated..  80 

231.  St.  Olave'n.     By  Eliza  Tabor 40 

232.  A  Point  of  Honor SO 

233.  Live  it  Down.     By  ,TeafTi-eson 60 

iiiil.   Martin  Pole.     By  Saunders 80 

Mary  I.yndsny.  By  Lady  Pon.-onby 40 

'-':;o.  r.lennor's  Victory.  By  M.  E.  Braddon.  Ill's.  60 

'-•::7.  Ka.-hel  Ray.  By  Trollope 35 

'ulm  Mnrchmont's  Legacy.  By  M.  E.  Bniddon  50 

UP.  Annis  Warlciph's  Fortunes.  By  Holme  Lee. ..  6(1 

240.  The  Wife's  Evidence.    By  Wills 40 

241.  Barbara's  History.    By  Amelia  B.  Edwards 60 

242.  Cousin  Thillis 20 

24.'!.  Wlmt  will  he  do  with  It?     By  Bulwer 75 

244  Th.-  [Adder  of  Life.     By  Amelia  H.  Edwards. ..  25 

245.   Denis  Duval.     By  Thackeray.     Illustrated  . . .  25 

240.  Maurice  During.  '  By  Geo.  Lawrence 25 


PKICE 

HARPER'S    Library   of    Select    Novels- 
Continued. 

247.  Margaret  Denzil'a  History $    50 

243.  Quite  Alone.     By  George  Augustus  Sala.     Ill's.      60 
249.  Mattie :  a  Stray 40 


.  My  Brother's  Wife.     By  Amelia  B.  Edwards...  25 

251.  Uncle  Silas.     By  J.  S.  Le  Faun 40 

252.  Lovel  the  Widower.     By  Thackeray 20 

253.  Miss  Mackenzie.     By  Anthony  Trollope 35 

254.  On  Guard.     By  Annie  Thomas 40 

255.  Theo  Leigh.     By  Annie  Thomas 40 

256.  Denis  Donne.     By  Annie  Thomas 40 

257.  Belial 30 

25S.  Carry's  Confession 60 

259.  Miss  Carew.     By  Amelia  B.  Edwards 35 

260.  Hand  aud  Glove.     By  Amelia  B.  Edwards ....  30 

261.  Guy  Deverell.     By  J.  S.  Le  Funu 40 

262.  Half  a  Million  of  Money.  By  Amelia  B.  Edwards. 

Illustrated 60 

203.  The  Belton  Estate.     By  Anthony  Trollope 85 

264.  Agnes.     By  Mrs.  Oliphant 60 

205.  Walter  Goring.     By  Annie  Thomas 40 

200.  Maxwell  Drewitt.     By  Mrs.  J.  H.  Riddell 60 

267.  The  Toilers  of  the  Sea.     By  Victor  Hugo.     Il- 

lustrated   50 

268.  Miss  Marjoribanks.     By  Mrs.  Oliphant 60 

209.  True  History  of  a  Little  Ragamuffin.    By  James 

Greenwood 35 

270.  Gilbert  Rugge.     By  the  Author  of  "A  First 

Friendship  " 60 

271.  Sans  Merci.    By  Geo.  Lawrence 35 

272.  Phemie  Keller.     By  Mrs.  J.  II.  Riddell 35 

273.  Land  at  Last,     By  Edmund  Yates 40 

274.  Felix  Holt,  the  Radical.     By  George  Eliot 60 

275.  Bound  to  the  Wheel.     By  John  Saunders  ....  60 

276.  All  in  the  Dark.    By  J.  S.  Le  Fanu 30 

277.  Kissing  the  Rod.     By  Edmund  Yates 40 

278.  The  Race  for  Wealth.     By  Mrs.  J.  H.  Riddell. .  60 
27'.'.  Lizzie  Lorton  of  Greyrigg.     By  Mrs.  Linton...  60 
2SO.  The  lieiiuclercs,  Father  and  Son.     By  C.Clarke  25 
281.  Sir  Brook  Fossbrooke.     By  Charles  Lever. ...  60 

i.'S2.  Madonna  Mary.     By  Mrs.  Oliphant 50 

2s:!.  Cradock  Novell.     By  R.  D.  Blackmore 60 

284.  Bernthal.     From  the  German  of  L.  Muhlbach.  30 

2S5.   Rachel's  Secret ,          .  40 

2SO.  The  Claverings.     By  Anthony  Trollope.     Ill's..  W 
237.  The  Village  on  the  Cliff.    By  Miss  Thackeray. 

Illustrated 05 

288.  Played  Out.     By  Annie  Thomas 41) 

289.  Black  Sheep.     By  Edmund  Yates. ...  .40 

290.  Sowing  the  Wind.     By  E.  Lynn  Lmton 35 

291.  Nora  and  Archibald  Lee 40 

292.  Raymond's  Heroine 40 

293.  Mr.  Wynyard's  Ward.     By  Holme  Lee 25 

21I4.  Alec  Forties.     By  George  Macdoimld 60 

295.  No  Man's  Friend.     By  F.  W.  Robinson 60 

21)0.  Called  to  Account.    By  Annie  Thomas 40 

297.  Caste ,  35 

298.  The  Curate's  Discipline.    By  Mrs.  Eiloart 40 

299.  Circe.     By  liabington  White 35 

300.  The  Tenants  of  Malory.     By  J.  S.  Le  Fanu. . .  60 

301.  Carlyoii's  Year.     By  James  Payn 26 

302.  The  Waterdnle  Neighbors 35 

303.  Mabel's  Progress 40 

3(4.  Guild  Court.     By  Geo.  Macdoimld.     Ill's '.  40 

305.  The  Brothers'  Bet.     By  Miss  Carlen 28 

306.  Playing  for  High  Stakes.     By  Annie  Thom- 

as.    Illustrated 25 

307.  Margmvt's  Engagement 25 

::os.  One  of  the  Family.     By  James  Payn 25 

309.  Five  Hundred  Pounds  Reward.    By  a  Barrister.  85 

310.  Brownlows.     By  Mrs.  Oliphant 60 

811.  Charlotte's  Inheritance.     By  Miss  Braddon.. .  35 

312.  Jennie's  Quiet  Life.     By  Eliza  Tabor. 80 

313.  Poor  Humanity.     By  F. W.  Robinson 60 

314.  Brakespeare.     By  Geo.  A.  Lawrence.    With  an 

Illustration 40 

316.  A  Lost  Name.     By  J.  S.  I.e  Fanu 40 

310.  Love  or  Mnrringe  »    By  W.  Black 30 

317.  Dead-Sea Fruit.   By  Miss  Ilia,!,!,,,,,  illustrated.  60 
313.  The  Dower  House.     By  Annie  Thomas 35 

319.  The  Brnmlcighs  of  Bishop's  Folly.     By  Lever. 

Illustrated 60 

320.  Mildred.     By  Georgiana  M.  Craik S9 

321.  Nature's  Nobleman.     By  the  Author  of  '•  Ra- 

chel's Secret" 35 

322.  Kathleen.     By  the  Author  of  "  Raymond's  He- 

roine."   60 

323.  That  Boy  of  Norcott's.     By  Charles  Lever.    Il- 

lustrated   25 

324.  In  Silk  Attire.     By  W.  Black 35 

::•-'.'>.    Hetty.      By  Henry  King-lev 2« 

320.  False  Colors.     By  Auuie  Thomas 40 


Harper's  Library  of  Select  Novels. 


HARPER'S  Library  of  Select  Novels- 
Continued. 

327.  Meta's  Faith.   By  Eliza  Tabor $  35 

32S.  Found  Dead.     By  James  Payu 25 

329.  Wrecked  in  Port.     By  Edmund  Yates 35 

;!3i L  The  Minister's  Wife.     By  Mrs.  Oliphant 50 

331.  A  Beggar  on  Horseback.     By  James  Payu 36 

33'.'.  Kitty.     By  M.  Betham  Edwards 35 

333.  Only  Herself.     By  Annie  Thomas 35 

334.  Hirell.     By  John  Saunders 40 

335.  Under  Foot.     By  Alton  Clyde.     Illustrated...  40 

336.  So  Huns  the  World  Away.    By  Mrs.  A.  C.  Steele.  35 

337.  Baill-jd.     By  Julia  Goddard.     Illustrated 60 

333.  Beneath  the  Wheels 60 

339.  Stern  Necessity.     By  F.  W.  Robinson 40 

340.  Gwendoline's  Harvest.     By  James  Payu 25 

341.  Kilmeny.     By  William  Biack 35 

842.  John  :  A  Love  Story.     By  Mrs.  Oliphaut 25 

343.  True  to  Herself.     By  F.  W.  Robinson 60 

344.  Veronica.  By  the  Author  of  "Mabel's  Progress"  60 

345.  A  Dangerous  Guest.     By  the  Author  of  "Gil- 

bert Rugge" 80 

340.  Estelle  Russell 60 

347.  The  Heir  Expectant.   By  the  Author  of  "  Ray- 
mond's Heroine" 40 

848.  Which  is  the  Heroine? 40 

349.  The  Vivian  Romance.     l!y  Mortimer  Collins..  35 

350.  In  Duty  Bound.     Illustrated 85 

351.  The  Warden  and  Barchester  Towers.    By  A. 

Trollope 60 

352.  From  Thistles-Grapes  ?    By  Mrs.  Eiloart. ...  35 
3o3.  A  Siren.     By  T.  A.  Trollope 40 

354.  Sir  Harry  Hotspur  of  Humblethwaite.      By 

Anthony  Trollope.     Illustrated 35 

355.  Earl's  Dene.     By  R.  E.  Francillon 50 

350.   1  )aisy  Nichol.     By  Lady  Hardy 35 

357.  Bred  in  the  Bone.     By  James  Payn.     Ill's 40 

858.  Fenton's  Quest.   By  Miss  Braddon.  Illustrated..  60 

359.  Monarch  of  Mincing-Lane.   By  W.  Black.   Ill's.  50 
36D.  A  Life's  Assize.     By  Mrs.  J.  II.  Riddell 40 

301.  Anteros.  By  the  Author  of  "Guy  Livingstone."  40 

302.  Her  Lord  and  Master.     By  Mrs.  Ross  Church. .  30 

303.  Won-Not  Wooed.     By  James  Payn 35 

364.  For  Lack  of  Gold.     By  Charles  Gibbon 35 

305.  Anne  Furness 60 

360.  A  Daughter  of  Heth.     By  W.  Black 35 

307.  Durntou  Abbey.     By  T.  A.  Trollope 40 

363.  Joshua  Marvel.     By  B.  L.  Farjeou 40 

369.  Levels  of  Arden.    By  M.  E.  Braddon.     Ill's.  50 

370.  Fair  to  See.     By  L.  W.  M.  Lockhart 40 

871.  Cecil's  Tryst.     By  James  Payn 30 

372.  Patty.     By  Katharine  S.  Macquoid 60 

373.  Maud  Mohan.     By  Annie  Thomas 25 

374.  Grif.     By  B.  L.  Farjeon 35 

375.  A  Bridge  of  Glass.     By  F.  W.  Robinson 30 

376.  Albert  Lnnel.     By  Lord  Brougham 50 

377.  A  Good  Investment.     By  Wm.  Flagg.     Ill's..  35 
37S.  A  Golden  Sorrow.     By  Mrs.  Cashel  Hoey 40 

379.  Ombra.     By  Mrs.  Oliphant 50 

380.  Hope  Deferred.     By  Eliz-i  F.  Pollard. 30 

SSI.  The  Maid  of  Sker.     By  R.  D.  Blackmore 60 

382.  For  the  King.     By  Charles  Gibbon 30 

383.  A  Girl's  Romance,  and  Other  Tales.     By  F.  W. 

Robinson SO 

384.  Dr.  Wainwright'g  Patient.    By  Edmund  Yates.  35 

335.   A  Passion  in  Tatters.     By  Annie  Thomas 60 

330.   A  Woman's  Vengeance.     By  James  Payn 

337.   Strange  Adventures  of  a  Phaeton.  By  W.  Black.  50 
3S3.   To  the  Bitter  Eud.   By  Miss  M.  E.  Braddon. 

Illustrated 60 

389.  Robin  Gray.    By  Charles  Gibbon 35 

890.  Godolphin.     By  Buhver 35 

391.  Leila.     By  Buhver.     Illustrated 25 

392.  Kenelm  Chillingly.     By  Lord  Lytton.     Ill's..  6( 

393.  The  Hour  and  the  Man.   By  Harriet  Martineau  60 

394.  Murphy's  Master.     By  James  Payn 20 

395.  The  New  Magdalen.     By  Wilkie  Collins ' 

396.  '"He  Cometh  Not,1  She   Said."     By  Annie 

Thomas 30 

397.  Innocent.  By  Mrs.  Oliphant.     Illustrated 6C 

SOS.  Too  Soon.     By  Mrs.  Macquoid 30 

399.  Strangers  and  Pilgrims.  By  Miss  Braddon.  Ill's.  50 

400.  A  Simpleton.     By  Charles  Ueade 35 

401.  The  Two  Widows.     By  Annie  Thomas 25 

402.  Joseph  the  Jew.     By  Miss  V.  W.  Johnson 

403.  Her  F:ic«  was  Her  Fortune.   By  F.  W.  Robinson.  4( 

404.  A  Princess  of  Thnle.     By  W.  Black 5( 

405.  Lottie  Darling.    By  J.  C.  Jenffreson 6( 

406.  The  Blue  Ribbon.     By  Eliza  Tabor 

407.  lliirry  Heathcote  of  Gangoil.     By  A.  Trollope 

Illustrated 20 

409.  Publicans  and  Sinners.     By  Miss  Braddon...  6f 

409.  Colonel  Dacre.     By  the  Author  of  "Caste"...  35 


lARPER'S  Library  of  Select  Novels- 
Continued. 

10.  Through  Fire  and  Water.  By  Frederick  Talbot. 

Illustrated $  20 

11.  Lady  Anna.    By  Anthony  Trollope 30 

12.  Taken  at  the  Flood.    By  Miss  Braddon 6J 

13.  At  Her  Mercy.     By  James  Payn 30 

14.  Ninety-Three.     By  Victor  Hugo..     Ill's 25 

15.  For  Love  and  Life.     By  Mrs.  Oliphaut 50 

16.  Doctor  Thorne.     By  Anthony  Trollope 60 

17.  The  Best  of  Husbands.     By  James  Payn 25 

18.  Sylvia's  Choice.     By  Georgiana  M.  Cralk 30 

19.  A  Sack  of  Gold.     By  Miss  V.  W.  Johnson 15 

20.  Squire  Arden.     By  Mrs.  Oliphant 60 

421.  Lorna  Doone.     By  K.  D.  Blackmore.      Ill's...  60 

:22.  The  Treasure  Hunters.  By  Geo.ManvilleFet.n.  25 

423.  Lost  for  Love.     By  Miss  M.  E.  liraddon.    Ill's.  60 

:24.  Jack's  Sister.    By  Miss  Dora  Havers 60 

425.  Aileen  Ferrers.     By  Susan  Morley 30 

426.  The  Love  that  Lived.     By  Mi's.  Eiloart 30 

427.  In  Honor  Bound.    By  Charles  Gibbon i:5 

28.  Jessie  Trim.     By  B.  L.  Farjeon 35 

29.  Hagarene.     By  George  A.  Lawrence i>5 

30.  Old  Myddelton's  Money.     By  Mary  Cecil  Hay.  25 
431.  At  the  Sign  of  the  Silver  Flagon.    By  Farjeon..  25 
'32.  A  Strange  World.     By  Miss  Braddon 40 

433.  Hope  Meredith.     By  Eliza  Tabor 35 

434.  The  Maid  of  Killeeua.     By  William  Black....  40 

435.  The  Blossoming  of  an  Aloe.     By  Mrs.  lloey. . .  30 
430.  Safely  Married.    By  the  Author  of  "Caste."..  25 

437.  The  Story  of  Valentine  and  his  Brother.    By 

Mrs.  Oliphant 60 

438.  Our  Detachment.     By  Katharine  King f,5 

439.  Love' s  Victory.     By  B.  L.  Farjeon 20 

440.  Alice  Lorraine.     By  R.  D.  Blackmore 60 

441.  Walter's  Word.     By  James  Payn 50 

442.  Playing  the  Mischief.     By  J.  W.  De  Forest...  60 

443.  The  Lady  Superior.     By  Eliza  F.  Pollard. ...  b5 

444.  Iseulte.    By  the  Author  of  "  Vera,"  "  Hotel  du 

Petit  St.  Jean,"  &c ; 30 

445.  Eglantine.    By  Eliza  Tabor 40 

446.  Ward  or  Wife  ?    Illustrated 95 

447.  Jean.     By  Mrs.  Newman 35 

448.  The  Calderwood  Secret.  By  Miss  V.W.  Johnson  40 

449.  Hugh  Melton.    By  Katharine  King.    Ill's....  95 

450.  Healey 35 

451.  Hostages  to  Fortune.    By  Miss  Braddon.    Ill's.  60 

452.  The  Queen  of  Connaught 35 

453.  Off  the  Roll.    By  Katharine  King 60 

454.  Halves.    By  James  Payn 30 

455.  The  Squire's  Legacy.     By  Mary  Cecil  Hay.. .  25 

456.  Victor  and  Vanquished.     By  Mary  Cecil  Hay.  25 

457.  Owen  Gwynne's  Great  Work.  By  Lady  Augusta 

Noel 30 

453.  His  Natural  Life.     By  Marcus  Clarke 50 

459.  The  Curate  in  Charge.    By  Mrs.  Oliphant.. . .  20 

400.  Pausanias  the  Spartan.     By  Lord  Lytton 25 

401.  Dead  Men's  Shoes.     By  Miss  M.  E.  Braddon. .  40 

402.  The  Dilemma.    By  the  Author  of  "  The  Battle 

of  Dorking." 50 

4G3.  Hidden  Perils.     By  Mary  Cecil  Hay 26 

404.  Cripps,  the  Carrier.  By  K.  D.  Blackmore.  Ill's.  60 

465.  Rose  Turquand.    By  Ellice  Hopkins 35 

406.  As  Long  as  She  Lived.     By  F.  W.  Robinson. . .  60 

467.  Israel  Mort,  Overman.     By  John  Saunders....  60 

463.  Phoebe,  Junior.   By  Mrs.  Oliphant 35 

469.  A  Long  Time  Ago.     By  Meta  Orred 23 

470.  The  Laurel  Bush.    By  the  Author  of  "John 

Halifax,  Gentleman."     Illustrated 26 

471.  Miss   Nancy's  Pilgrimage.      By  Virginia  W. 

Johnson 40 

472.  The  Arundel  Motto.     By  Mary  Cecil  Hay £5 

473.  Azalea.     By  Cecil  Clayton 30 

474.  Daniel  Deronda.     By  George  Eliot 150 

475.  The  Sun-Maid.    By  the  Author  of  "Artiste.".  35 

476.  Nora's  Love  Test.     By  Mary  Cecil  Hay 25 

477.  Joshua  Haggard's  Daughter.     By  Miss  M.  K 

Braddon.     Illustrated ^ 50 

478.  Madcap  Violet.     By  William  Black 60 

479.  From  Dreams  to  Waking.   By  E.  Lynn  Linton.  20 

430.  The  Duchess  of  Rosemary  Lane.  By  B.  L.  Fai  jeon.  35 

431.  Anne  Warwick.     By  Georgiana  M.  Craik £5 

482.  Weavers  and  Weft.     By  Miss  Braddon 25 

483.  The  Golden   Butterfly.     By  the  Authors   of 

11  When  the  Ship  Comes  Home,"  <tc 40 

484.  Juliet's  Guardian.  By  Mrs.  H.  Lovett  Cameron. 

Illustrated W 

485.  Mar's  White  Witch.     By  G.  Douglas M 

W>.  I  leaps  of  Money.     By  W.  K.  Nori  is 25 

487.  The  American  Senator.    By  Anthony  Trollope.  50 

433.  Mrs.  Arthur.     By  Mrs.  Oliphant 40 

4S'>.  Winstowe.     By  Mrs.  Leith-Adnms 25 

4'JO.  Marjerie  Bruco's  Lovers.     By  Mary  Patrick...  25 


Harper's  Library  of  Select  Novels. 


HARPER'S  Library  of  Select  Novels— 
Continued. 

491.  Roraola.     By  George  KHot.     Illustrated $    50 

4:i2.  Citritik.     By  Mrs.  Uliphant.     Illustrated 50 

493.  Middlemarch.    By  George  Eliot 75 

494.  For  Her  Sake.     By  F.  W.  Robinson.     III1? 611 

495.  Second-Cousin  Surah.  ByF.W.  Robinson.  Ill's..  50 

496.  Little  Kate  Kirby.    By  F.  W.  Robinson.    Ill's.  50 

497.  Luttrell  of  Arran.     By  Charles  Lever. f  GO 

493.  Lord  Kilgobbin.     By  Charles  Lever.     Ill's....    '5n 

499.  Tony  Butler.     By  Charles  Lever 60 

500.  Breaking  a  Butterfly.  By  George  A.  Lawrence. 

Illustrated 35 

501.  Mrs.  Lirriper'a  Legacy.     By  Charles  Dickens..  10 

502.  The  Mystery  of  Edwin   Drood.     By  Charles 

Dickens.     Illustrated 25 

503.  The  Parisians.     By  Bulwer.     Illustrated 60 

504.  Stone  Edge.     With  an  Illustration 20 

505.  The  Rule  of  the  Monk.     By  Garibaldi 30 

506.  Inside.     By  W.  M.  Baker.     Illustrated 75 

507.  Carter Qiiarterman.     By  W.  M.  Baker.     Ill's..  60 
503.  Three  Feathers.     By  Wm.  Black.     Ill's 50 

509.  Bound  to  John  Company.     By  Miss  Braddon. 

Illustrated. 50 

510.  Birds  of  Prey.    By  Miss  Braddon.    Illustrated.  50 

511.  The  Prey  of  the  Gods.     By  Mrs.  Ross  Church.  30 

512.  The  Woman  in  White.  By  Wilkie  Collins.  Ill's.  60 

513.  The  Tivo  Destinies.     By  Wilkie  Collins.    Ill's.  35 

514.  The  Law  and  the  Lady.     By  Wilkie  Collins. 

Illustrated 50 

515.  Poor  Miss  Finch.     By  Wilkie  Collins.     111'*...  60 

516.  No  Name.     By  Wilkie  Collins.     Illustrated...  60 

517.  The  Moonstone.    By  Wilkie  Coiling.    Ill's 60 

51S.  Man  and  Wife.     By  Wilkio  Collins.     Ill's 60 

519.  Armadale.     By  Wilkie  Collins.     Illustrated. . .  60 

5-20.  My  Daughter  Elinor.   By  Frank  Lee  Benedict.  80 

521.  John  Worthington's  Name.    By  F.  LeeBenedict  75 

522.  Miss  Dorothy's  Charge.     By  F.  Lee  Benedict. .  75 
5-23.  Miss  Van  Kortland.     By  Frank  Lee  Benedict..  60 
624.  St.  Simon's  Niece.     By  Frank  Lee  Benedict...  60 
5-25.  Mr.  Vaiighan's  lieir.     By  Frank  Lee  Benedict.  75 

626.  Captain  Brand.     By  H.  A.  Wise.    Illustrated.  75 

627.  Sooner  or  Later,     by  Shirley  Brooks.     IllV. . .  80 
623.  The  Gordian  Knot.     By  Shirley  Brooks.   With 

an  Illustration 50 

5-29.  The  Silver  Cord.     By  Shirley  Brooks.    Ill's...  75 

530.  Cord  and  Creese.   By  James  De  Mille,    Ill's...  60 

531.  The  Living  Link.     By  James  De  Mille.     Ill's..  60 

532.  The  American  Baron.  By  JameaDe  Mille.  Ill's.  60 
833.  The  Cryptogram.    By  James  De  Mille.   Ill's...  75 

634.  The  King  of  No-Land.   By  B.  L.  Farjeon.  Ill's.  25 

635.  An  Island  Pearl.     By  B.  L.  Farjeon.     Ill's 30 

536.  Blade-o' -Grass.   By  B.  I*  Farjeon.    Illustrated.  30 

537.  Bread-and-Cheese  and  Kisses.     By  B.  L,  Far- 

jeon.   Illustrated 35 

53S.  Golden  Grain.    By  B.  L.  Farjeon.    Illustrated.  35 

639.  London's  Heart   By  B.  L.  Farjeon.    Illustrated.  60 

640.  Shadows  on  the  Snow.   By  B.  L.  Farjeon.  Ill's.  30 

641.  Not  Dead  Yet.     By  John  Cordy  Jeaffreson C'J 

642.  The  Island  Neighbors.     By  Mrs.  A.  B.  Black. 

well.    Illustrated 60 

543.  The  Woman's  Kingdom.  By  Miss  Mulock.  Ill's.  60 

544.  Hannah.    By  Miss  Mulock.    With  Three  Ill's..  85 

545.  A  Brave  Lady.    By  Miss  Mulock.    Illustrated.  60 
646.  My  Mother  and  I.  By  Miss  Mulock.  Illustrated.  40 
547.  Chronicles  of  Carlingford.     By  Mrs.  Oliphant  60 
r>4s.  A  Son  of  the  Soil.     By  Mrs.  Oliphnnt 60 

649.  The  Perpetual  Curate.     By  Mrs.  Oliphant 60 

650.  Old  Kensington.     By  Miss  Thackeray.     Ill's..  60 
551.  Miss  AngeL     By  Miss  Thackeray.    Illustrated.  50 
55-2.  Miss  Thackeray's  Miscellaneous  Writings.  II1  d.  90 

653.  Vanity  Fair.  By  W.  M.TIiackeray.  Illustrated.  80 

654.  The  History  of  Pendennis.    By  W.  M.  Thack- 

eray.    Illustrated 75 

655.  The  Virginians.    By  W.  M.  Thackeray.    HIV..  HO 
650.  The  Newcomer.    By  W.  M.  Thackeray.    Ill's. .  80 
657.  The  Adventures  of  Philip.    By  W.  M.  Thack- 
eray.    Illustrated CO 


HARPER'S    Library    of    Select    Novels- 
Continued. 

553.  Henry  Esmond,  and  Level  the  Widower.     By 

W.  M.  Thackeray.     Illustrated $    CO 

559.  Put  Yourself  iu  11U  Place     By  Charles  Reade. 

Illustrated 50 

560.  A  Terrible  Temptation.   By  Charles  Reade.  Ill's      40 

501.  The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth.  By  Charles  Reade.       6U 

502.  The  W'anderiug  Heir.     By  Charles  Keade.    Il- 

lustrated   29 

563.  Hard  Cash.  By  Charles  Reade.  Illustrated..  M 

5C>4.  Griffith  Gaunt.  By  Charles  Reade.  Ill's 40 

565.  It  is  Never  Too  Late  to  Mend.  By  Charles 

Reade 60 

666.  Love  Me  Little,  Love  Me  Long.  By  Charles 

Reade.  With  an  Illustration 35 

567.  Foul  Play.  By  Charles  Rende. 35 

50S.  White  Lies.  By  Charles  Reade 40 

CG9.  Peg  Woffiugton,  Christie  Johnstone,  and  Other 

Stories.  By  Charles  Reade 50 

5TO.  A  Woman-Hater.  By  Charles  Reade.  With 

Two  Illustrations CO 

571.  Orley  Farm.     By  Anthony  Trollope.     Ill's SO 

572.  The  Vicar  of  Bullhampton.    By  Anthony  Trol- 

lope.    Illustrated 80 

573.  The  Way  We  Live  Now.     By  Anthony  Trol- 

lope.    Illustrated 90 

574.  Phineas  Finn.     By  Anthony  Trollope.     Ill's..      75 

575.  Phinens  Redux.    By  Anthony  Trollope.    Il.'s..      7.r> 

576.  Ralph  the  Heir.     By  Anthony  Trollope.     Ill's.      75 

577.  The  Eustace  Diamonds.    By  Anthony  Trollope.      80 

578.  The  I-ast  Chronicle  of  Barset     By  Anthony 

Trollope.     Illustrated 90 

579.  The  Golden  Lion  of  Granpere.     By  Anthony 

Trollope.     Illustrated 40 

5SO.  The  Prime  Minister.     By  Anthony  Trollope. . .       CO 
581.  Can  You  Forgive  Her?    By  Anthony  Trol- 
lope.   Illustrated 80 

5S2.  He  Knew  He  Was  Right.     By  Anthony  Trol- 
lope-.    Illustrated SO 

583.  The  Small  House  at  Allington.     By  Anthony 

Trollope.     Illustrated 75 

554.  The  Sacristan's  Household.   By  Mrs.  F.  E.  Trol- 

lope.   Illustrated 50 

555.  Lindisfarn  Chare.     By  T.  A.  Trollope CO 

556.  Hidden  Sin.     Illustrated CO 

557.  My  Enemy's  Daughter.    By  Justin  McCarthy. 

Illustrated 50 

558.  My  1 1  usband's  Crime.     By  M.  R.  Housekeeper. 

1  llustrated 50 

539.  Stretton.  By  Henry  Kiugsley.  With  on  Illus- 

tion 35 

590.  Ship  Ahoy!  By  G.  M.  Fenn.  Illustrated 35 

691.  Debenham's  Vow.  Bjr  Amelia  B.  Edwards. 

Illustrated 50 

502.  Wives  and  Daughters.  By  Mrs.  Gaskell.  Ill's..  CO 

593.  Recollections  of  Eton.     Illustrated 35 

594.  Tnder  the  Ban.     By  M.  l'Abb6  *  *  • CO 

595.  The  Rape  of  the  Gamp.     By  C.  W.  Mason. 

Illustrated 75 

536.  Erema ;  or,  My  Father's  Sin.    By  R.  D.  Black- 
more 60 

597.  What  He  Cost  Her.     By  James  Payn 40 

593.  Green  Pastures  and  Piccadilly.     By  William 

Black 50 

509.  A  Young  Wife's  Story.     By  Harriette  Bowra..       25 

600.  A  Jewel  of  a  Girl.   By  the  Author  of  "Queenie."      85 

601.  An  Open  Verdict,    "liy  Miss  M.  K.  Bradilon. ..       85 

602.  A  Modern  Minister.     Y..1.  I.     Illustrated 25 

603.  A  Modern  Minister.     Vol.11.    {In  Press.) 

604.  Young  Musgrave.     By  Mrs.  Oliphant 40 

605.  Two  Tales  of  Married  Life.     By  Gcorgiana  M. 

Craik  and  M.  C.  Stirling 30 

606.  The  Last  of  the  Haddons.     By  Mrs.  Newman.      25 

607.  The  Wreck  of  the  "  Grosvenor" ? 

60S.  By  Proxy.     By  James  I'ayn 35 

C09.  By   Telia's   Arbor.      By   Walter   Besant  and 

Jamea  Rice 50 


MIEIAM'S   HERITAGE 


3V  Storg  <rf  tl)e 


BY  ALMA  CALDER 


NEW    YORK 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS 

FRANKLIN     SQUARE 
1878 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1878,  by 

HARPER  &   BROTHERS, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

'Fresh  come  to  a  new  world,  indeed,  yet  long  prepared, 
I  see  the  genius  of  a  modern  child,  of  the  real  and  ideal, 
Clearing  the  ground  for  broad  humanity,  the  true  America ; 
Heir  of  the  past,  to  build  a  grander  future." 


MIRIAM  MORGAN'S  home  is  nestled 
among  the  mountains  of  the  Dela- 
ware :  a  long  narrow  valley,  hedged 
by  hemlock-crowned  hills  sloping  east- 
ward to  the  river.  A  brook,  after 
miles  of  wandering  in  the  forest,  finds 
an  outlet  here;  leaping  merrily  down 
the  southern  hillside;  resting  quietly 
in  the  pond  above  the  mill ;  dashed 
to  glittering  fragments  on  the  wheel; 
then  rushes  foaming  across  the  val- 
ley to  join  the  beautiful  river,  which 
sweeps  unheeding  by,  until,  lingering 
at  a  rocky  cliff,  its  current  is  divided: 
part  hurries  onward,  and  part  returns 
to  welcome  the  noisy  little  brook,  and 
reflect  again  the  grassy  bank,  the 
white  cottage,  and  the  green  hills; 
forming  one  of  the  prettiest  scenes  to 
the  eye  of  an  artist,  and  the  best  raft- 
ing eddy  to  the  eye  of  a  lumberman, 
to  be  found  in  the  country. 

Here  millions  of  feet  of  logs  and 


WALT  WHITMAN. 

lumber  are  each  year  rafted  by  hardy 
men,  who  brave  heat  and  cold,  fire  and 
flood,  to  cut,  haul,  rescue,  and  raft  the 
lumber,  which  is  their  only  source  of 
revenue. 

Sometimes  a  storm  overflows  the 
mountain  streams,  fills  the  mill-ponds, 
bursts  the  dams,  and  sweeps  away 
buildings,  bridges,  roads,  trees,  and 
lumber.  Sometimes  a  traveller  emp- 
ties the  hot  ashes  from  his  pipe  by  the 
roadside,  or  a  deserted  camp-fire  will 
be  fanned  by  the  breeze  into  a  flame, 
and  cords  of  bark  and  acres  of  timber 
are  destroyed. 

But  oftener  the  lumber  which  has 
escaped  these  perils,  been  piled  upon 
the  river's  bank,  withstood  the  crash- 
ing ice  and  roaring  flood,  been  formed 
into  rafts,  and  started  hopefully  on  its 
way  to  market,  its  oars  well  manned, 
its  steersman  well  chosen,  its  provi- 
sion-box well  filled,  and  a  good  freshet 


2046385 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


to  carry  it  to  tide -water,  will  strike 
against  a  bridge-pier,  collide  with  an- 
other raft,  or  be  blown  by  the  wind 
out  of  the  channel,  and  become  a 
wreck,  scarcely  worth  the  labor  and 
expense  of  rerafting. 

The  men  who  encounter  and  over- 
come these  perils,  wresting  a  living 
from  out  the  hands  of  Nature,  while 
all  her  powers  seem  arrayed  against 
them,  develop  the  hardy,  reckless  part 
of  their  characters  rapidly. 

Their  faces  are  keener  than  the 
farmer's,  coarser  than  the  tradesman's, 
lighted  by  a  social,  shrewd  expression ; 
while  their  rollicking,  reckless  man- 
ners have  stamped  the  name  of  rafts- 
man, in  town  and  city,  as  a  synonyme 
for  rowdy ;  few  aware  of  the  brave, 
unselfish  impulses  lying  beneath  the 
rude  exterior. 

To  these  wilds,  and  these  associates, 
came  John  Morgan,  almost  forty  years 
ago,  bringing  his  wife,  and  two  boys, 
aged  five  and  seven  years. 

A  wealthy  farmer's  daughter,  reared 
with  little  knowledge  of  life  beyond 
the  quiet  village,  where  the  dominie, 
the  doctor,  and  the  dress-maker  were 
each  alike  infallible,  where  the  low- 
est forms  of  vice  were  never  seen  and 
poverty  unknown,  Mrs.  Morgan  found 
it  difficult  to  reconcile  herself  to  the 
privations  of  her  new  home,  harder 
still  to  accept  those  loud-voiced, 
queerly  clad  people  as  neighbors  and 
friends,  and  was  inexpressibly  grieved 
to  witness  the  case  with  which  her 
husband  and  sons  adapted  themselves 
to  the  customs  of  their  associates. 

John  Morgan  was  a  man  of  more 
than  ordinary  ability  and  self- appre- 
ciation; having  a  singular  mixture 


of  qualities  common  to  opposite  tem- 
peraments. 

Usually  reticent,  undemonstrative, 
unsympathetic,  he  was  always  sensi- 
tive, impetuous,  intense.  Haughty, 
selfish,  dictatorial,  sarcastic,  he  made 
many  bitter  enemies ;  but  those  yield- 
ing implicit  obedience  to  his  will,  and 
doing  homage  to  his  judgment,  found 
him  a  wise  counsellor  and  a  generous 
friend.  Proud  of  a  lineage  unstained 
by  vice,  he  exhibited  no  fondness  for 
the  culture  which  had  made  them  fa- 
mous. Though  ambitious  to  regain  the 
wealth  lost  by  his  ancestors,  he  insist- 
ed that  a  life  of  ascetic  frugality  was 
the  noblest  and  happiest ;  social  alike 
to  his  equals  and  inferiors,  he  consid- 
ered any  expression  of  regard  or  sym- 
pathy to  his  family  or  employes  as  un- 
dignified and  injurious:  lavish  to  a  fault 
at  times,  he  was  often  penurious  and 
apparently  unscrupulous. 

Adopting  the  profession  of  his  fa- 
ther, a  lawyer  of  some  prominence,  he 
studied  with  him  for  several  years; 
but  upon  marrying  a  farmer's  daugh- 
ter, and  receiving  with  her  a  well- 
stocked  farm,  he  abandoned  his  pro- 
fession, to  till  his  wife's  inheritance. 

Here  ten  quiet,  prosperous  years 
passed.  Absorbed  in  the  same  occu- 
pations, members  of  the  same  church, 
interested  in  the  same  people  and  pur- 
suits, John  and  Mary  Morgan  were 
similar  in  tastes,  harmonious  in  opin- 
ions :  as  two  mountains  crowned  with 
the  same  verdure,  cultivated  with  the 
same  care,  none  could  suspect  one  was 
filled  with  veins  of  gold,  the  other  a 
latent  volcano. 

The  monotonous  calm  of  their  lives 
was  broken  by  a  fire  of  religious  en- 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


thusiasra,  which,  kindled  by  an  "  evan- 
gelist "  in  an  adjoining  village,  swept 
the  entire  country. 

During  the  heat  of  the  excitement, 
John  Morgan  publicly  declared  his  in- 
tention of  becoming  a  missionary  to 
India.  The  entreaties  of  his  wife  and 
the  expostulations  of  his  friends  were 
alike  insufficient  to  deter  him.  Each 
obstacle  added  to  his  zeal. 

The  farm  was  sold ;  a  house  in  the 
village  rented  for  his  wife  and  two 
boys;  arrangements  made  for  their 
maintenance  until  he  should  return,  or 
send  for  them  to  join  him;  and  with 
perfect  confidence  in  the  purity  of  his 
motives  and  his  fitness  for  the  work, 
he  presented  himself  to  the  Board  of 
Foreign  Missions.  But  here  new  diffi- 
culties arose.  No  company  was  ready 
to  start  for  India,  and  the  treasury  was 
not  in  funds.  Some  knowledge  of  the 
language  and  customs  was  also  neces- 
sary ;  and  the  zealous  young  man  was 
advised  to  spend  a  half-year  in  study. 
Cheap  lodgings  were  found,  and  days 
of  wearisome  study  and  impatient 
waiting  lengthened  into  months  be- 
fore the  time  of  their  departure  came. 

Then  some  detention  occurred ;  and 
the  hasty  spirit  of  John  Morgan  could 
endure  no  more.  Angry  words  fol- 
lowed, and  the  young  man  left  the 
presence  of  the  assembled  Board  in  a 
towering  passion,  renouncing  the  idea 
of  sacrificing  himself  for  the  benefit  of 
the  heathen.  Mortified,  but  not  hum- 
bled, he  resolved  to  find  another  home 
before  returning  to  his  friends.  The 
purchase  of  these  timber  lands  was 
recommended  by  their  owner's  agent, 
and  highly  praised  by  the  man  who 
had  them  in  charge. 


"  Tell  ye  what,  mister,"  he  said, "  thar 
hain't  no  purtier-layin'  land  'long  the 
Del'ware,  nor  no  better  timber  no- 
whar.  Easy  to  git  at,  an'  cuts  up  prime 
lumber.  Thar's  a  good  house,  an'  a 
fust-rate  mill  put  up  this  year,  an'  a  sort 
o'  barn  an'  a  storehouse ;  but  them'll 
want  fixin'  some.  Ef  ye  conclude  to 
buy,  an'  yer  woman  '#  cum,  you'd  better 
make  yer  plans  to  git  along  in  April. 
Ye  kin  bring  yer  traps  on  a  raft  from 
Beaverkill  ef  thar's  a  fresh ;  an'  ef  thar 
hain't,  ye'  kin  git  along  with  an  ark, 
and  maybe  a  canoe  or  a  float.  'Twon't 
cost  ye  much  to  move,  an'  ye'll  be 
hard  to  please  ef  the  place  don't  suit 
ye.  Why,  I  tried  livin'  in  Jarsey,  but 
I  couldn't  stan'  it.  Tol'  'em  I  got  to 
git  whar  I  could  smell  hemlock  an' 
see  maountaius,  or  I  should  die.  I'd 
ruther  hav'  the  fun  o'  gettin'  out  an' 
runnin'  a  raft  o'  toggle  timber  than 
the  hull  crop  o'  the  best  Jarsey  farm, 
ef  Iliad  to  raise  it.  No  sir-ee  !  Thar's 
nothin'  in  the  State  fit  to  hoi'  a  candle 
to  the  upper  Del'ware ;  'nless  it's  the 
gals — an'  they're  a  contrary  lot ;  think- 
in'  more  o'  thar  ol'  Jarsey  sandhills  an' 
mud  flats  than  anybody  or  anything 
else.  But  now  I  tell  ye,  mister,  that 
thar  lot  o'  lan's  offered  ye  dog-cheap ; 
an'  ef  ye  take  it,  ye'll  git  a  bargain ; 
that's  so !" 

The  agent  also  assured  him  that  the 
country  was  healthy,  beautiful,  fertile, 
well  watered,  abounding  in  fish  and 
game,  covered  with  valuable  timber, 
and  on  the  line  of  the  New  York  and 
Erie  Railroad,  now  being  constructed. 

Captivated  by  the  description,  he 
only  waited  to  assure  himself  of  their 
location  and  title;  when,  without  seek- 
ing the  advice  of  any,  he  became  the 


10 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


possessor  of  five  thousand  acres  of 
hemlock  forest  in  the  unbroken  wil- 
derness, with  their  overseer,  Bill  Mor- 
ris, engaged  as  foreman. 

A  few  weeks  later,  he,  with  his  wife 
and  sons,  and  all  their  household 
goods,  were  floating  down  the  Dela- 
ware. At  twilight  of  the  second 
day  they  were  landed  on  the  pebbly 
beach  before  the  log-cabin,  now  their 
only  home. 

Exhausted  by  the  wearisome  jour- 
ney, Mary  Morgan  dragged  herself 
listlessly  up  the  pathway,  entered  the 
bare,  rude  cabin,  and  waited  until  the 
Avorkmen  who  accompanied  them  had 
brought  the  goods  from  the  raft,  cut 
boughs  of  fragrant  hemlock,  scattered 
them  in  heaps  across  the  two  ends  of 
the  room,  and  kindled  a  bright  blaze 
in  the  big  fireplace. 

Then  she  spread  some  blankets  over 
the  evergreens,  called  the  boys  to  her 
side,  bidding  them  kneel  and  repeat, 
as  usual,  their  evening  prayers.  The 
men  hushed  their  laughter  and  jest- 
ing, gazing  with  surprise  and  awe 
upon  the  unusual  scene.  Their  "  good- 
nights  "  were  said,  and  soon  all  slept. 

The  sunlight,  streaming  through  the 
uncurtained  windows,  awoke  Mrs.  Mor- 
gan to  a  strange  sense  of  old  things 
having  passed  away.  The  men  had 
risen  and  gone  out  an  hour  before, 
carrying  their  boots  in  their  hands, 
lest  they  should  disturb  her  slumbers. 

Her  boys  were  still  sleeping  sound- 
ly, when,  rising,  she  wrapped  a  shawl 
around  her,  and  went  out  to  take  a 
first  look  at  their  new  home. 

The  thickly  wooded  hills,  where  ev- 
ergreen and  deciduous  trees  intermin- 
gled, wore  a  wintry  look;  patches  of 


snow  covered  the  fields,  and  the  river 
was  rippled  by  the  chilling  wind.  A 
saw-mill  beside  the  brook,  piles  of  lum- 
ber around  it,  a  storehouse  of  hewn 
logs  with  heavily  shuttered  windows, 
and  a  slab  barn :  these  were  all  the 
signs  of  human  habitation. 

A  spring  bubbled  out  from  a  huge 
rock  a  few  steps  from  the  door;  a 
stump  garlanded  by  leafless  vines  was 
beside  the  pathway,  and  a  pile  of  un- 
cut wood  and  scattered  chips  lay  near 
the  door.  A  shout  of  delight  from 
the  boys,  Jamie  and  Davy,  as  they 
ran  from  the  house,  chasing  a  squirrel 
up  the  hillside  and  scaring  a  rabbit  to 
its  hole,  aroused  the  mother  from  sad 
memories,  to  suggest  new  fears.  Vi- 
sions of  wild  beasts  upon  the  moun- 
tains, snakes  among  the  rocks,  and  the 
dangers  of  river  and  mill-pond  to  her 
venturesome  boys,  sent  a  chill  of  ter- 
ror to  her  heart. 

"Well,  how  do  you  like  it?"  said 
her  husband's  voice  beside  her. 

"  It  is  rougher,  wilder,  than  I  ex- 
pected, John.  But  if  it  is  to  be  our 
home,  of  course  I'll  try  to  make  the 
best  of  it :  yet  what  will  become  of 
our  boys  ?" 

"The  boys  !  why,  it's  just  the  place 
for  them.  They'll  grow  up  with  the 
country,  and  become  hearty  men ;  able 
to  assist  me  in  the  management  of  this 
immense  estate,  and  become  leading 
men  in  the  community." 

"But  they  are  children  now;  and  I 
am  afraid  they  will  get  hurt,  or  lost, 
or  drowned." 

"  Oh,  nonsense  !  I  expect  them  to 
be  able  to  hunt,  fish,  and  swim,  like 
the  natives." 

"  Oh,  John,  do   forbid   their   going 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


11 


into  the  woods  alone,  or  near  the  wa- 
ter till  they  can  swim.  I  mean  until 
they  learn  to — " 

John  Morgan's  loud  laugh  silenced 
her.  "Keep  them  out  of  the  water 
till  they  know  how  to  swim !  Well, 
if  that  isn't  a  woman's  idea !  No,  I 
don't  intend  to  do  anything  of  the 
kind.  I  mean  my  boys  to  grow  up 
fearless,  independent  men,  with  no 
sickly  sentimentalism  about  them.  I 
intend  they  shall  learn  to  shoot  a 
squirrel  in  the  eye,  hunt  down  a  bear 
or  a  panther,  ride  a  log,  steer  a  raft, 
swim  a  mile,  or  run  a  saw-mill,  as  well 
or  better  than  any  one  in  the  country." 

The  boys,  attracted  by  their  father's 
laughter,  had  come  up  unperceived, 
and,  catching  a  glimpse  of  the  aston- 
ishment and  anguish  in  their  mother's 
face,  understood  her  terror. 

Jamie  slipped  his  little  brown  hand 
in  hers,  as  his  father  walked  away. 

"You  needn't  be  one  bit  afraid 
'bout  me,  mother  dear,"  he  said,  pull- 
ing her  arm  around  his  neck;  "I 
won't  go  into  the  mill,  or  river,  'thout 
asking:  and  Big  Bill  (that's  what  he 
told  me  to  call  him,  mother,  said  it 
made  him  feel's  if  he  had  on  a  starch- 
ed shirt  to  be  called  Mister  Morris) ; 
he's  going  to  teach  Dave  and  me  to 
swim:  and  he's  a  real  good  fellow, 
Bill  is;  he  won't  let  us  get  hurt  a 
mite.  You'll  see." 

The  mother  stooped  and  kissed  him. 
"  My  blessing !"  she  said,  as  her  eyes 
filled  with  tears. 

"  Well,  J'm  going  to  learn  to  shoot 
a  gun ;  and  then  noffin'  won't  hurt 
me,  for  I'll  kill  it.  And  I  kin  learn  to 
swim  by  watching  the  frogs;  Bill 
said  so,"  added  Davy. 


"Here,  Mary,"  called  her  husband, 
returning  with  a  panful  of  fish ;  "  see 
what  Sanders  caught  for  breakfast. 
This  is  the  place  to  live  !  Here's  fifty 
speckled  trout,  caught  in  an  hour,  and 
the  woods  are  full  of  game.  No  no- 
bleman has  a  park  like  ours — nor  an 
appetite  like  mine.  Come,  here's  a 
dozen  men  ready  to  praise  the  cook 
by  eating  everything  she  sets  before 
them.  Just  give  me  a  tin,  and  I'll 
have  one  of  the  men  clean  these  fish. 
Now  see  what  you  can  get  for  us  to 
eat." 

"But  the  stove  isn't  set  up  yet," 
she  said;  "and  the  lunch  is  all  eat- 
en." 

"  Well,  can't  you  cook  a  meal  over 
the  fireplace?  I've  seen  my  mother 
get  as  good  meals  over  a  fireplace  as 
I  ever  tasted." 

Mary  Morgan  turned  from  the  sight 
of  the  struggling,  gasping  fish  with  a 
shudder,  and  entered  the  house.  Two 
men  were  piling  up  the  blankets,  heap- 
ing the  hemlock  in  one  corner,  and 
stirring  the  fire. 

"If  one  of  you  will  open  a  barrel 
of  flour,"  she  said,  timidly,  "  I  will  try 
to  make  some  biscuit ;  but  I  don't 
know  how  to  bake  them.  There's  no 
tin  oven,  and  it  will  take  so,  long  to 
heat  that  outside  oven." 

"  Guess  you  hain't  never  cooked 
over  a  fireplace  much,  hev  ye  ?"  in- 
quired one  of  the  men. 

"  No." 

"Wall,  now,  yeoujist  stir  up  a  john- 
ny-cake— that  there  is  a  bag  o'  Injun, 
I  guess,  an'  the  milk  in  that  jug  is 
sour'n  swill  —  an'  I'll  bake  it  for  ye. 
An'  yeou  jist  let  Big  Bill  fry  them 
fish.  He's  so  tarnal  conceity,  Bill  is, 


12 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


he  thinks  nobody  can't  cook  fish  'long- 
side  o'  him.  Here's  the  coffee-kittle. 
Xeow  I'll  jist  step  out  an'  split  up  a 
slab  for  this  ere  fire.  'Spose  you  nev- 
er eat  no  wood-sorrel,  did  ye  ?  Wall, 
neow,  I  allers  like  suthin'  kindy  sour 
'long  o'  fish-an'-raeat  vittels;  an'  we 
hain't  got  no  gardin'-sass  started  yit. 
Guess  I  kin  git  a  hau'ful  or  two,  an' 


them  'at  don't  like  it  needn't  eat  it. 
Found  your  saleratus?  I've  seen  my 
woman  burn  a  corn-cob  'fore  now,  an' 
use  the  ashes  to  lighten  her  johnny- 
cake.  May  as  well  be  gittin'  the  ta- 
ble an'  cheers  up  here  too.  Don't  see 
what  them  fellers  is  all  doin'  over  to 
the  mill :  might  'a  had  everythiu' 
moved  and  settled  by  this  time." 


CHAPTER  II. 


'The  meal  unshared  is  food  unblest: 

Thou  hoardest  in  vain  what  love  should  spend. 
Self-care  is  pain:  thy  only  rest 

Is  labor  for  a  worthy  end. 
Then  do  thy  work:  it  shall  succeed, 

In  thine  or  in  another's  day: 
And  if  denied  the  victor's  meed, 

Thou  shalt  not  lack  the  toiler's  pay." 


THE  spring  days  lengthened  into 
early  summer.  Diligent  hands  had 
united  with  nature's  efforts  to  im- 
prove their  surroundings ;  and  the 
Morgans  were  settled  in  their  new 
home.  An  addition  to  the  rear,  and 
a  veranda  to  the  front  of  the  house, 
repeated  coats  of  whitewash  to  both 
inside  and  outside,  with  woodbine  and 
grape-vines  twining  over  the  door- 
way and  windows,  had  transformed 
the  brown  cabin  to  a  cosy  cottage. 

The  old  store  had  also  been  rebuilt, 
and  the  saw-mill  was  kept  busy  night 
and  day  cutting  up  the  logs  \vith 
which  the  pond  was  filled  into  scant- 
ling to  be  rafted  for  the  fall  freshet. 
The  few  acres  of  wild  meadow -land 
had  been  ploughed,  and  planted  with 
corn,  and  the  garden  beside  the  house 
£jave  a  supply  of  vegetables. 

The  hills  were  covered  with  rasp- 
berries, whortleberries,  and  blackber- 
ries in  their  turn,  and  barefooted  chil- 
dren clambered  over  the  fallen  trees 
of  the  "  clearings,"  and  among  the 


WHITTIER. 

half-burned  stumps  of  the  "  follows " 
to  pick  them,  carrying  the  fruit  of 
their  toil,  in  well -filled  pails,  to  the 
store,  to  exchange  for  sugar  and  tea, 
calico  and  trinkets ;  and  Mrs.  Mor- 
gan's ingenuity  was  taxed  to  the  ut- 
most to  devise  ways  and  means  to 
preserve  the  berries,  their  only  fruit, 
for  the  coming  winter. 

All  business  ceased  at  "  Morgan's 
Settlement "  every  Saturday  night ; 
and,  various  as  were  the  excuses  of 
the  settlers  coming  on  Sundays  to 
purchase  tobacco,  or  shot  and  powder, 
the  store  was  never  opened.  The 
workmen  spent  the  day  in  visiting 
their  friends;  and  the  family  in  re- 
reading the  books  brought  from  home. 
There  were  no  churches  or  schools. 

A  circuit-rider  held  monthly  meet- 
ings at  a  farm-house  ten  miles  away, 
and  colporters  sometimes  preached  at 
the  same  place ;  but  no  efforts  had 
ever  been  made  to  attend  their  meet- 
ings. 

"  If  there  were  only  a  school !"  the 


14 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


mother  exclaimed,  daily,  as  her  sun- 
burnt lads  ran  from  the  breakfast-ta- 
ble to  examine  rabbit-traps,  hunt  for 
fish -lines,  or  play  about  the  mill  and 
store. 

"  Why  don't  you  teach  them,  Mary? 
You  haven't  forgotten  all  you  learned 
at  the  academy  yet,  have  you  ?" 

"But  who  would  do  the  cooking 
and  cleaning,  and  bake,  and  wash,  and 
iron,  John  ?  "We  number  ten  in  fam- 
ily, now,  since  the  night  sawyer  and 
the  clerk  came ;  and  I  work  eighteen 
hours  a  day  to  get  the  housework 
done." 

"  Well,  there's  Jane  Rodgers  :  you 
might  get  her  to  come  and  help  you." 

"  Xo,  that  wouldn't  do;  it  is  as  easy 
to  do  it  all  as  to  instruct  and  oversee 
her." 

"  Well,  then,  do  as  you've  a  mind 
to !  If  you'd  rather  the  boys  would 
grow  up  as  ignorant  as  the  natives,  as 
wild  as  hawks  and  rough  ,as  bears,  I 
can't  help  it."  And  the  father  walk- 
ed off  to  superintend  the  measurement 
of  some  piles  of  bark  and  attend  the 
burning  of  a  "  follow,"  as  the  land  was 
called  when,  the  valuable  timber  hav- 
ing been  removed,  the  remainder  of 
the  trees  were  reduced  to  charcoal  and 
ashes. 

The  mother  began  the  day's  labors 
with  a  heavy  heart ;  but  as  one  task 
after  another  was  accomplished,  the 
germ  of  a  resolve  grew  up  in  her  heart, 
and  blossomed  in  a  song. 

"Jamie,  Jamie !  come  here;  moth- 
er's a-singing  !"  shouted  Davy,  from 
the  wood  pile,  to  his  older  brother  at 
the  spring. 

Their  mother  heard,  and  smiled.  "  I 
do  believe  it  is  the  first  time  I  have 


sung  since  we  left  home,"  she  thought; 
"and  my  boys  have  noticed  it.  This 
is  all  wrong  !  I  may  be  harming  an- 
other life  by  my  discontent.  The  lit- 
tle one  God  is  giving  me  must  have  a 
sunny  spirit  for  her  dower,  and  strong 
nerves  and  intense  vitality.  Ah  !  I 
must  make  a  change  in  some  way." 

The  scraping  of  feet  on  the  door- 
stone  announced  a  guest,  and  Mrs. 
Rodgers  walked  in. 

"How-de-do!  how-de-do!"  she  ex- 
claimed, rather  than  inquired.  "Dread- 
ful glad  your  getting  kindy  chirked 
up.  Jane  said  as  how  you's  powerful 
hum'sick ;  but  I  guessed  you  was  a 
gittin'  over 't  when  I  heerd  you  a-sing- 
in'.  Camp-meetin'tune,waVt'it?  Tell 
yeou  !  nothin'  so  kindy  raises  me  up, 
an' goes  all  through  me, like  a  good  ol'- 
f  ash  ion'  camp-meetin'  tune !  An'  neow 
I'll  tell  yeou  right  off  what  I  cum  fur. 
It's  a  burnin'  shame  the  way  things  is 
goin'  on  here  !  We've  hed  fishin'  an' 
huntin'  on  Sabba'-day  all  along  ;  seem- 
ed like  we  couldn't  help  it,  cause  the 
men-folks  'ud  git  powerful  tired  o'  salt 
pork,  and  kindy  hanker  arter  suthin' 
fresh.  Then  the  raftin',  an'  runnin',  an' 
bark-peelin',  an'  farmin'  all  cumin'  in 
right  along  on  top  o'  one  another,  so's 
thar  don't  seem  to  be  no  time  for 
workin'  in  the  gardin,  or  gittin'  any 
game,  'less  it's  on  Sunday.  So  I  don't 
say  nothin'  'bout  that,  no  more.  But 
las'  time  Jack  was  down  the  river,  he 
got  him  a  fiddle  ;  walked  the  hull  Avay 
hum  carryin'  that  thing  in  his  arms. 
An'  next  time,  like 's  not,  he'll  git  him 
a  pack  o'  keards  !  an'  finally— his  day 
o'  grace  will  be  clean  run  out — an'  oh- 
dear-me-suz!  seem's  ef  I  couldn't  stan' 
it !  But  las'  night,  's  I  was  a-layin'  in 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


15 


bed,  seems  to  me  's  ef  the  Lord  he  jis' 
spoke  an'  said,  '  Go  to  Mis'  Morgan  !' 
An'  sez  I,  Lord,  I  will,  soon  's  ever  I 
git  the  cows  milked  an'  the  breakfast 
work  done  up.  An'  so  I  jis'  left  Jane 
to  tend  the  bakin',  an'  I  cum  right  over. 
An'  neow  I  want  you  should  tell  me 
what  we're  goin'  to  do." 

And  the  good  old  woman  leaned 
back  in  the  cushioned  rocker  and  fan- 
ned herself  with  her  sun-bonnet. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Rodgers,  I  think  we 
are  living  like  a  set  of  heathen ;  and 
I  know  AVC  ought  to  have  preaching 
here  every  Sabbath.  There's  the  store 
Mr.  Morgan  has  fitted  up ;  he  had  two 
wings  built  while  the  carpenters  were 
here,  rather  than  have  them  come 
again ;  but  they  only  use  one ;  and  I 
know  the  other  could  be  made  quite  a 
comfortable  meeting-house." 

"  Wall,  I  dew  declare !  you're  a  fust- 
rate  hand  at  plannin'.  But  who'll  we 
git  to  preach  ?" 

"  I  have  thought  of  that  too.  May- 
be we  can  get  a  congregation  large 
enough  to  bring  Elder  Smith  over 
here.  But  for  the  present  we  have 
some  of  Wesley's  and  Calvin's  ser- 
mons, and  my  husband  can  read  them 
to  us — he's  a  very  good  reader — and  I 
will  teach  my  boys  to  sing  the  hymns, 
and—" 

"  The  Lord  bless  you !  You  dew 
beat  all  I  ever  see  fur  pickin'  up  a 
body's  thoughts  an'  carryin'  them 
right  along.  Your  David's  got  a  v'ice 
like  a  bobolink;  an'  I  never  heerd 
nobody  tune  up  sweeter  than  yeou 
did  'fore  I  cum  in.  My  Jack's  got  a 
powerful  nice  v'ice  tew.  Mebbe  yeou 
could  git  him  int'  the  notion  of  singin' 
suthin'  'side  them  silly  songs  o'  his'ii. 


And  yeou  tell  Brother  Morgan,"  low- 
ering her  voice  and  wiping  her  face 
with  her  blue  checked  apron,  "  that 
I  wouldn't  mind  makin'  the  prayers 
myself,  cf  he  feels  anyways  back'ard 
about  it." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  he  would  mind," 
Mrs.  Morgan  said,  hurriedly :  "  we  al- 
ways used  to  have  family  prayers,  and 
he  often  prayed  in  the  conference 
meetings  at  our  old  home.  You  stay 
to  dinner,  and  after  the  men  have 
gone  out  ask  him  what  he  thinks  of 
our  plan.  We  have  veal  pot-pie  for 
dinner;  and  I  think  that  will  be  a 
treat.  Mr.  Morgan  sent  Jenkins  way 
up  to  Cole's  with  the  canoe  after  it." 

"  Fur  the  land's  sake !  Sent  ten 
mile  to  git  fresh  meat !  Well,  I  hain't 
hed  a  bit  o'  fresh  meat  sence  Jack 
broke  his  gun;  an',  somehow,  I  don't 
stomac'  wild  meat  as  I  used  to,  any- 
how. Yes,  I  guess  I'll  stay.  Our 
men- folks  takes  their  dinners  in  the 
woods  with  them  long's  bark-peelin' 
lasts,  and  Jane  '11  tend  to  the  chores." 

The  shadows  were  creeping  up  the 
hillsides  when  Mrs.  Rodgers  walked 
homeward.  Her  strong  face  was 
quivering  with  emotion,  and  great 
tears  rolled  down  the  brown,  wrinkled 
cheeks. 

When  a  turn  in  the  road  hid  her 
from  view,  she  knelt  beside  a  mossy 
log  and  poured  out  her  thanks  to  the 
All  Father  who  had  sent  these  Chris- 
tians to  her  help. 

The  simple,  earnest,  tender-hearted 
woman  had  long  been  pained  and 
perplexed  by  the  increasing  levity 
and  lawlessness  of  her  neighbors. 
Believing  that  all  alcoholic  drinks 
were  made  by  the  "  Enemy  of  Souls," 


16 


MIRIAM'S   PIERITAGE. 


and  cards  "  devices  of  the  devil  to  en- 
trap the  unwary,"  the  calm  peaceful- 
ness  of  her  nature  had  been  stirred  to 
its  depths  at  hearing  of  the  social 
glass  and  games  of  chance  too  fre- 
quently indulged  in  by  her  neighbors; 
and  many  fervent  prayers  had  been 
poured  out  from  the  mother-heart  for 
her  boy,  that  he  might  shun  "  them 
devil's  drinks,  an'  pasteboard  traps, 
marked  with  the  black  of  Satan's  fin- 
gers, and  painted  with  the  heart's- 
blood  of  his  victims,"  often  wonder- 
ing  why  the  Lord  did  not  rise  in  his 
wrath  and  strike  down  the  evil-doers 
who  tempted  the  innocent  into  sin. 

To  Mrs.  Rodgers's  consciousness  of 
being  the  only  "professor"  in  the  set- 
tlement was  added  a  feeling  of  per- 
sonal responsibility  for  the  souls  of 
her  neighbors,  which  would  have 
been  overwhelming  to  a  more  sensi- 
tive nature,  but  which,  in  her,  caused 
frequent  and  frantic  efforts  to  save 
the  sinners,  nolens  volens,  and  induced 
public  and  pointed  exhortations,wbere- 
in  more  zeal  than  wisdom  was  mani- 
fested. 

These  efforts  for  their  good,  united 
with  generous  deeds  and  gracious 


hospitality,  had  not  been  received  nor 
rewarded  with  that  consideration  she 
felt  was  her  due. 

Then,  too,  her  convictions  had  some- 
times yielded  to  circumstances;  and 
it  was  with  a  vague  hope  of  a  definite 
standard  of  morality  being  estab- 
lished that  she  welcomed  these  Chris- 
tians to  the  wilderness;  and  as  she 
knelt  by  the  roadside,  desires  and 
hopes  united  with  her  thanksgiving. 

Before  the  Sabbath  came  the  long, 
low  room  had  been  swept,  and  gar- 
nished with  hemlock  boughs  and  lau- 
rel blossoms.  Plank  seats  were  sup- 
ported by  blocks  of  wood.  A  large 
dry -goods  box,  with  a  smaller  one 
placed  upon  it,  and  covered  with  a 
large  dark -green  shawl,  formed  the 
pulpit.  On  the  smaller  box  the  fami- 
ly Bible  was  laid,  and  on  the  project- 
ing ends  of  the  larger  one  Jamie  and 
Davy  had  placed  their  china  mugs, 
filled  with  wild-roses. 

"  It's  jest  as  purty  as  a  picter !"  ex- 
claimed the  Saturday  customers  to 
the  store,  peeping  into  the  room ;  and 
each  one  readily  promised  "to  come 
to  meetin'"  the  following  day,  and 
bring  their  friends  with  them. 


CHAPTER  III. 

'Think  ye  that  sic  as  you  and  I— 
Wha'  drudge  an'  delve  through  wet  and  dry 

Wi'  never-ceasing  toil — 
Think  ye,  are  we  less  blest  than  they 
Wha'  scarcely  tent  us  on  their  way, 

As  hardly  worth  their  while?" 


SUNDAY  morning  dawned  bright 
and  clear.  Jamie  and  Davy  were  up 
with  the  birds  to  welcome  the  fair 
day ;  but  the  shouts  were  louder  than 
the  songs  as  the  boys  ran  to  the  barn, 
hallooing  to  Big  Bill  the  glad  news 
that  this  was  "  goiu'  to  be  a  real  sure 
enough  Sunday,  like  we  used  to  have 
home" — home  being  still  their  birth- 
place, the  village  farm. 

The  shadows  had  passed  the  noon 
mark,  when  along  the  new  road,  and 
down  the  mountain  paths,  came  groups 
of  men,  women,  and  barefooted  chil- 
dren. The  men  clad  in  homespun, 
their  "  wamusses  "  of  butternut-color- 
ed flannel  tied  down  the  front  with 
brilliant -hued  strings;  knitted  caps 
on  their  heads,  running  up  to  a  peak, 
and  terminating  in  a  gay  tassel ;  while 
one  or  two  possessed  coats  brought 
from  "down  the  river,"  and  hats  of 
straw  braided  by  the  fingers  of  sister 
or  sweetheart. 

The  women  wore  sun- bonnets  or 
handkerchiefs  tied  over  their  ears, 
with  homespun  or  calico  frocks:  here 
2 


BURNS. 

and  there  a  brilliant  pink  or  blue 
gingham  adorned  a  girlish  form,  cut 
to  reveal  the  plump  white  shoulders 
and  round  sunburnt  arms. 

Shyly,  and  with  surprised  gladness, 
they  met  and  greeted  each  other, 
"  goin*  to  meetin' "  being  an  unusual 
event,  and  each  having  wondered  if 
the  other  would  be  there. 

The  men  talked  of  "crops,"  the 
".price  of  lumber,"  and  the  prospect 
of  a  "  June  fresh ;"  while  the  women 
chatted  about  the  last  quilting  and 
logging  bee,  of  deaths  and  marriages ; 
and  not  one  word  was  spoken  of  the 
subject  uppermost  in  their  minds, 
until  across  the  meadow  Mrs.  Rodgers 
came. 

Her  cheery  face  gleamed  with  glad- 
ness as  she  shook  hands  with  her 
neighbors,  exclaiming, 

"I'm  powerful  glad  to  see  you  all 
a-comin'  out  to  meetin'.  I've  been  a 
prayin'  an'  prayin'  that  some  on  ye'd 
flee  from  the  wrath  to  come.  But 
I'm  feard  some  of  ye's  jest  come  to 
show  off  your  store -clothes.  I  see 


18 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


Lucy  Jones  has  got  on  that  string  o' 
blue  an'  yaller  beads  o'  hearn.  Oh- 
dear-rne-suz !  When  I  think  what 
poor  dyin'  worms  we  be !  But  the 
Lord  is  pitiful  an'  gracious,  slow  to 
anger,  and  plentiful  in  mercy !  An'  ef 
Brother  Morgan  'vites  you  to  come  to 
the  mourner's  bench,  I  dew  hope  some 
on  ye  will  git  couvarted,  and  come 
out  on  the  Lord's  side,  to-day." 

Big  sobs  choked  her  voice,  and 
tears  rolled  down  her  quivering  face, 
as  she  pulled  her  sun-bonnet  over  her 
eyes  and  hurried  into  the  temporary 
chapel. 

"Neow,  I'm  beat  holler,  ef  Auntie 
Rodgers  ain't  a  powerful  preacher ! 
Stew  me  fur  apple-sass  ef  I  wa'nt  jest 
reddy  to  shout  Amen  !" 

"  You're  sassy  enuff  neow,  an'  you'll 
git  stewed  hereafter  probably,"  said 
a  tall,  lank  man,  sneeringly,  as  he 
walked  by. 

"Land's  sake!"  exclaimed  the  boy, 
grinning, "  Long  John  can't  go  by  ye 
in  the  road  'thout  hittin'  ye  a  slap." 

"  Mebbe  you  never  felt  's  ef  ye  had 
a  soul,  Sam  Jenkins,"  said  a  clear- 
voiced,  bright -eyed  girl,  turning  to 
face  him ;  "  an'  ef  you've  forgot  the 
bowls  o'  gruel  Mis'  Rodgers  made  fur 
ye  when  you's  sick,  I  guess  ye  hain't 
got  one's  worth  savin'." 

"Laws-a-massy,  Susan  !  heow  yeou 
dew  flare  up  at  nothin' !  Hain't  I  al- 
ways sed,  and  stuck  tew  it,  thar  hain't 
no  better  miss  than  Auntie  Rodgers 
'n  the  hull  Yankee  nation,  hey  ?  nor 
a  cleverer  woman  nuther !  But  then 
it's  my  'pinion  she  is  kinder  out  o'  the 
current  in  her  ideas  'bout  gittin'  re- 
ligin.  Neow  look  at  this  yer  'arth, 
all  trees,  an'  purty  posies,  an'  nice 


gals,  an'  birds,  an'  sunshine.  Stands 
tew  reason,  don't  it  ?  the  Lord  wants 
his  critters  to  have  a  good  time,  else 
he'd  a  made  everythin'  humbly  as  I 
be.  Neow  there's  Big  Bill :  dew  you 
'spose  the  Lord  likes  him  any  better 
sence  he  took  to  mopin'  'roun'  than 
when  he  was  a  jokin'  an'  laughin',  an' 
singin'  all  day?  He  done  his  work 
jist  as  good,  and  helped  t'other  fellers 
do  theirnjust  by  keepin'  their  sperits 
up.  Tell  yeou !  that  time  we  stove 
up  in  "VVellses,  guess  we'd  lost  both 
rafts,  an'  gone  to  Davy  Jones's  locker, 
ef  it  hadn't  a'  ben  for  Bill!  But 
sence  he's  got  religin  down  in  Jar- 
sey — don't  know's  'twas  religin  alto- 
gether, though — but  I  don't  b'leve  the 
Lord  wants  anybody  to  go  groanin', 
an'  snivolin',  an'  mopin',  an' — " 

"  Neow,  Sam,  you  jest  shet  up !  Much 
you  know  'bout  what  the  Lord  wants. 
Mis'  Rodgers 's  'bout  as  wrell  acquaint- 
ed 'ith  him  's  you  be  !  Thar  hain't 
none  of  us  but  what's  done  things  we 
orter  be  ashamed  of  an'  sorry  fur, 
an'  ask  furgiveness  fur,  too,  I  'spose  ! 
Thar,  neow,  you'll  be  a-tellin'  what  a 
smart  preacher  I  be  too !  Well,  I 
don't  care.  Come,  Lucy,  thar  goes 
Mis'  Morgan  an'  her  boys.  Les  us 
go  in." 

The  girls  entered  the  wide  door 
and  seated  themselves  on  a  bench 
near  it.  Several  young  men  follow- 
ed, with  much  sidevvay  glancing  to 
see  who  were  watching  them,  and  a 
ready  sneer  to  exchange  with  a  com- 
panion, or  transform  into  a  serious 
smile  if  meeting  the  reproving  glance 
of  a  "  professor." 

The  scats  were  already  half  filled ; 
and  the  whispered  admonitions  to  rest- 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


19 


less  children,  the  flutter  of  the  par- 
tridge-tail fans,  and  the  undertoned 
talk  of  the  men  gathered  about  the 
steps  suddenly  ceased  as  John  Mor- 
gan, with  a  flushed  face,  entered  and 
walked  hurriedly  to  the  extempo- 
rized pulpit,  opened  the  black  morocco 
•  hymn-book,  and  read  the  old  familiar 
hymn, 

"  Come,  tliou  Fount  of  every  blessing ! 
Tune  my  heart  to  grateful  lays. " 

Mary  Morgan  arose ;  her  boys,  one 
each  side  of  her,  looked  eagerly  over 
the  book  she  held,  and  joined  their 
childish  voices  with  her  sweet  treble. 
Here  and  there  a  grumbling  bass  and 
a  quivering  soprano  joined  in  the  old- 
fashioned  tune. 

From  the  garden  fence,  from  the 
store  steps,  the  curious  loungers  came, 
hushing  their  noisy  footsteps  as  they 
entered,  unwilling  to  lose  one  word  of 
the  fervent  hymn.  One  by  one  had 
risen,  until  all  joined  in  the  attitude 
of  song ;  and  the  late  -  comers  were 
forced  to  walk  to  the  bench  before  the 
pulpit  to  find  an  unoccupied  seat. 

Close  beside  Davy  came  Big  Bill, 
and  next  to  him  stood  Jack  Rodgers. 

Jamie  pushed  the  hymn-book  to- 
ward them;  his  mother  took  the  gen- 
tle hint  and  placed  the  open  book  in 
Big  Bill's  hands,  with  a  nod  which 
said  "  We  know  it,"  then  sang  on, 

"Teach  me  some  melodious  measure, 
Sung  by  raptured  saints  above ;" 

The  amateur  preacher  had  been 
fumbling  the  leaves  of  a  leather  - 
bound  volume,  with  nervous  fingers ; 
now,  his  heavy  bass  voice  joined  them 
in  singing, 


"Praise  the  mount,  I'm  fixed  upon  it  ; 
Mount  of  Thy  redeeming  love." 

At  the  close  of  the  second  stanza, 
Big  Bill's  voice  united  with  his — 

"Jesus  sought  me  when  a  stranger, 
Wandering  from  the  fold  of  God  ;" 

And  as  the  final  verse  was  begun,  the 
flute-like  voice  of  Jack  Rodgers  soar- 
ed, sweet  and  clear,  above  them  all, 
inspiring  each  to  unite  in  the  melody 
as  they  shouted, 

"  Here's  my  heart,  oh  take  and  seal  it, 
Seal  it  from  thy  courts  above." 

The  hymn  ended,  John  Morgan 
knelt  upon  the  floor,  and,  one  by  one, 
the  "professors"  followed  his  example, 
the  rest  of  the  congregation  bowing 
their  heads  upon  their  hands. 

Briefly,  but  fervently,  he  implored 
"Divine  assistance,  that  light  might 
be  disseminated,  truth  be  promul- 
gated, and  righteousness  cover  the 
face  of  the  earth  as  the  waters  cover 
the  great  deep,"  asking  also  that  "God 
would  bless  this  portion  of  his  moral 
vineyard,  making  it  to  bring  forth  fruit 
to  his  glory." 

Another  familiar  hymn  was  sang, 
and  then  John  Morgan'^  voice  an- 
nounced "A  sermon  preached  before 
the  University,  at  St.  Mary's,  Oxford, 
by  John  Wesley,  June  18th,  1738. 
Text, '  By  grace  are  ye  saved  through 
faith.'  Ephesians  II.,  second  chapter, 
eighteenth  verse." 

In  a  deep,  distinct  voice  he  began 
to  read.  The  novelty  kept  the  atten- 
tion of  all  until  the  first  five  divisions 
of  the  three-headed  discourse  had  been 
logically  considered.  Then  the  bare 
feet  of  the  children  began  reaching 


20 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


for  the  floor,  their  eyes  wandering 
to  the  squirrels  chattering  a  defiance 
at  them  through  the  open  -window, 
to  the  trees  nodding  and  beckoning 
in  the  sunlight.  Sprigs  of  caraway, 
doughnuts  and  cookies,  frowns  and 
whispered  commands  to  "  set  still," 
were  all  unavailing.  One  after  an- 
other broke  from  the  guardian  hands, 
and  ran  out  into  the  sunshine. 

Then  the  younger  ones  cried,  and 
would  not  be  pacified.  Passed  from 
the  arms  of  one  to  another,  they  re- 
fused to  be  comforted,  and  were  car- 
ried out  as  Mr.  Morgan  reached  the 
concluding  paragraph,  and  sat  down 
with  a  sigh  of  relief  that  the  seven 
pages  of  fine  print  were  finished. 

His  wife  arose,  singing, 

"Praise  God  from  whom  all  blessings  flow;" 

several  voices  joined ;  and  as  the  final 
word  of  the  grand  old  Doxology  was 
uttered,  the  handshaking  of  friends 
and  neighbors  began. 

Amidst  the  greetings  and  inquiries, 
Mrs.  Morgan  stood  watching  her  hus- 
band until  he  passed  by  an  inner  door 
into  the  store. 

The  sermon  had  not  been  a  success- 
ful venture;  the  interruptions  con- 
fused, the  inattention  annoyed  him. 
He  had  anticipated  congratulations 
and  requests  to  read  for  them  every 
Sunday ;  but  no  such  requests  came. 

Evidently  the  rural  congregation 
had  had  enough  of  sermons  addressed 
to  universities. 

"Well,  he  had  done  his  duty.  No 
one  could  say  he  had  not  tried  as  a 
Christian  to  establish  the  worship  of 
God  among  these  people:  now,  if 
they  went  hunting,  fishing,  and  visit- 


ing on  the  Sabbath,  the  fault  was  not 
his! 

Mary  Morgan  read  these  thoughts 
in  his  face;  and  as  he  turned  away, 
closing  and  bolting  the  door  behind 
him,  she  sighed  heavily. 

"He  is  right  in  the  first  thought," 
she  said,  mentally:  "reading  Wes- 
ley's sermons  will  not  do;  but  these 
people  ought  to  know  about' God  and 
Christ :  they  want  to  know  !  There  is 
Polly  Sanders  and  Sam  Jenkins;  how 
eagerly  they  listened  at  first.  Poor 
Auntie  Rodgers,  how  disappointed 
she  looked,  too !  Well,  there  is  a  way 
to  lead  these  people,  and  we  must  find 
it.  Maybe  it  is  a  Sunday-school ;  but 
we  have  no  teachers  nor  books." 

"Mother,  mother,"  called  Davy's 
eager  voice,  "  there's  a  woman  to  our 
house,  an'  she  talks  the  queerest !  A 
woman  from  way  off,  mother !" 

A  blue-eyed,  golden-haired  girl  met 
her  as  she  entered  the  rustic  gate. 

"Wad  ye  mind  ef  I  bide  wi'  ye  the 
day,  mistress  ?  I'm  ower-tired ;  an'  I 
ken  I'm  at  deith's  door  wi'  hunger." 

"Come  in,  come  in.  Jamie  dear, 
run  to  the  cellar  and  get  a  pitcher  of 
milk.  Davy,  can  you  pick  up  a  bas- 
ket of  chips  to  build  a  fire  ?  Father 
will  want  some  tea.  And  you,  little 
children  " — to  the  flock  of  curious  ur- 
chins gathering — "  run  away  to  your 
mammas :  maybe  they  have  some 
more  cookies  for  you." 

She  drew  her  strange  guest  into  the 
house ;  and  the  group  of  wondering 
children  ran  away  to  claim  the  re- 
mains of  their  lunch,  proclaiming  the 
news  of  the  arrival. 

"A  yallcr  -  headed  gal  talkin'  the 
queerest  stuff.  Guess  she's  crazy." 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


21 


Mrs.  Roclgers  was  earnestly  exhort- 
ing Big  Bill  to  "come  out  boldly  on 
the  Lord's  side,"  when  the  foremost 
urchin  overtook  them,  shouting  the 
news. 

"What's  that  yer  sayin'?"  he 
asked ;  "  who 's  come  ?  what's  her 
name  ?" 

"I  don't  know;  guess  she's  some 
furrin  critter.  She  talks  outlandish- 
like.  Mis'  Morgan,  she  took  her  int' 
the  house  and  sot  her  down  in  the  big 
rockiu'-cheer ;  an' — " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  panted  another  runner, 
coming  up;  "an'  she  giv'  her  some 
breen-milk,  an'  she's  a  lay  in'  down  on 
Mis'  Morgan's  bes'  bed  this  ere  rnin- 
nit !" 

Many  were  the  wonders  and  guesses 
of  the  neighbors ;  but  a  sense  of  pro- 
priety kept  the  most  curious  from  in- 
truding upon  the  family,  and  no  more 
was  seen  of  the  strange  woman  until, 
after  a  refreshing  sleep  and  quiet  din- 
ner, she  told  Mary  Morgan  her  his- 
tory. 

Then  she  walked  across  the  mead- 
ow, and  stood  leaning  upon  the  bars 
opening  into  the  pastures,  awaiting 
the  large  comely  man  who  was  com- 
ing down  the  hillside,  driving  the 
cows  before  him. 

"I  ken  it  wad  be  better  sae,"  she 
said  to  her  sympathizing  hostess ; 
"my  een  greit  wi'  th'  thocht  o'  seein' 
his  bonny  face  agen.  I  dinna  ken  the 
words  I'll  whisper  in  his  lug,  but  he'll 
forgie  his  lassie,  an'  n'er  fash  o'  me 
agen.  Eh  me !  the  lang,  lang  day 
sin  syne  !  Forgive  me,  lady,  I  maun 
greit,  tho'  I  dinna  want  to  do  V 

The  cattle  came  up  and  stopped  at 
the  fence;  the  man  stepped  forward 


to  let  down  the  bars,  gave  a  long 
stare  at  the  woman  standing  beside 
them,  then  bounded  over  the  fence, 
and  caught  her  in  his  arms. 

"Bess,  my  bonny  lassie!  my  little 
wife!  so  ye  changed  yer  mind,  did  ye  ? 
You've  come  into  the  backwoods,  af- 
ter all,  hain't  you  ?  An'  here  I'd  jest 
made  up  my  mind  to  give  up  lumber- 
in'  and  go  back  to  Jarsey,  and  work 
the  farm.  I  swan !  ef  that  hain't  cur- 
'us  now.  Jest  as  I  give  up  my  way, 
you  give  up  your  way ;  an'  here  you 
be !  I  couldn't  stan'  it  no  longer 
'thout  you,  an'  you  couldn't  stan'  it  no 
longer  'thout  me — an'  you're  jest  as 
purty  as  a  picter,  Bess,"  holding  her 
at  arm's -length,  while  happy  tears 
trickled  down  his  cheek  and  over  his 
bronzed  beard.  "Thar  hain't  a  gal 
'roun'  yere  ken  hoi'  a  candle  to  ye, 
lassie,  an'  yer  my  wife,  too!  an'  ye 
come  all  the  way  from  Jarsey  to  git  to 
me.  I  swan!  an'  I  a-thinkin'  mebbe 
ye'd  got  to  hatin'  me  fur  leavin'  yer 
so  !"  And  he  clasped  her  to  his  heart 
again.  "  But  how  did  yer  come  ?  not 
walked  from  Pleasant  Point!  For 
the  land's  sake !  Oh !  why  couldn't 
I  know'd  ye's  comin' !  Seems  like  I 
kinder  felt  it  too.  Auntie  Rodgers, 
she  thought  I  was  under  conviction ; 
guess  I  was,  too.  Lord  knows  I've 
enough  to  repent  of  to  you,  comin'  's  I 
did  to  yer  hum  an'  promisin'  the  ol' 
folks  I'd  stay  an'  work  the  farm,  ef 
they'd  let  me  hev  ye.  Jehoshaphat ! 
I'd  a'  promised  anything !  But  I  sort- 
er hankered  fur  the  hills  an'  the 
woods;  seemed  like  I  couldn't  stand 
them  Jarsey  flats  another  year !  An'  I 
r'ally  thought,  Bess,  ye  ought  to  leave 
yer  hum  an'  come  to  mine.  I  couldn't 


22 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


bear  ye  should  think  more  of  the  ol' 
folks  'an  me ;  that's  what  made  me 
madder  'n  anything.  But  I  see  dif- 
fer'nt  now,  Bess.  I  read  in  the  Good 
Book  t'other  day — jest  happened  to 
cum  across  it  —  how  't  the  husban' 
must  leave  his  father  an'  mother  fur 
his  wife ;  but  it  don't  say  nothin'  'bout 
her  leavin'  t'  ol'  folks  fur  him.  By 
jimminy !  I  liked  to  holler'd  when  I 
see  that ;  an'  I  says,  says  I,  I'll  go 
back  to  Bessie,  ef  she'll  Lev  me  agen, 
an'  I'll  work  them  Jarsey  flats  etar- 
nally  ef  she  wrants  me  to.  I  swan  I 
will,  Bess,  ef  ye  don't  like  it  here  an' 
'11  jest  say  the  word." 

"Ah,  Willy,  me  braw  bonny  lad- 
die !"  cried  the  Scotch  girl,  clasping 
both  his  brown  hands  in  her  own, 
"  wad  ye  do  sic  a  thing  as  that  fur 
hive  o'  me?  Wad  ye  be  leavin'  the 
heelands,  an'  the  work  yer  sae  fond 
o',  an'  bide  wi'  my  kin  in  the  low- 
lands ?  Eh,  Willy !  I  ken  ye  luv  me 
weel  noo.  But  I  wad  na'  hae  ye  mak' 
sic  a  sacrifees.  Our  gran'sire  cam' 
an'  he  brocht  Marian  to  bide  wi'  my 
mither.  An'  'twas  jes  ruggin'  an' 
reevin'  at  my  he'rt  the  thocht  o'  ye ; 
maybe  sair-he'rted,  or  may  be  waur 
than  that — gacin  muckle  wrang,  wi' 
nane  to  hand  ye  oot  th'  ill  gait !  an' 
I  cud  na'  reist,  but  whan  th'  win- 
ter gang  awa',  an'  I  see  the  rafts  a 
gaein  by,  an'  some  stoppin',  I  hoped 
ye  wad  cum  agen.  Many  lads  cam' 
fur  metheglin,  an'  buttered  sconces 
(as  ye  did  first,  Willy),  an'  my  fai- 
ther  speired  o'  ye,  an'  they  tellt  him 
ye  staid  at  hame  an'  waur  douce  an' 
dourie.  Willy  !  I  cud  beir  na  mair. 
I  did  nathing  but  greit,  an'  then — 
well  I  cam'  awa'  an'  I  foun'  my  ain 


luv !  I  winna  leave  ye  noo ;  sin  ye 
canna  bide  i'  th'  braw  lowlan's,  we'll 
mak'  a  bonny  hame  i'  th'  wildwood 
t'gither. 

"  'Where  thou  bidest,  I  will  bide.'" 

The  reunited  pair  walked  hand-in- 
hand  to  the  cottage  door,  where  John 
and  Mary  Morgan,  with  their  boys, 
were  seated. 

"Mis'  Morgan,"  said  Big  Bill,  his 
face  radiant  with  delight,  "  this  is  my 
wife,  as  I  s'pose  she's  tol'  ye.  Mister 
Morgan,  this  here  young  woman  is 
Missis  William  Morris.  Came  all  the 
way  from  Jarsey  to  hunt  up  a  good- 
fur -nothin'  lummux  of  a  husbau', 
that  never  knowd  what  a  rale  treasure 
he'd  got  till  he  thought  he'd  lost  her, 
and. jest  by  his  own  sheer  contrari- 
ness, too.  Ain't  she  the  purticst  little 
lassie  ye  ever  sot  yer  eyes  on  ?  Wall, 
I  swan  !  I  don't  see  what  sech  a 
piece  of  pink-an'- white  china  ken  fin' 
in  me  that's  worth  comin'  nigh  unto 
a  hundered  an'  fifty  miles  after,  any- 
how !" 

And  he  threw  himself  on  the  door- 
steps, and  gazed  admiringly  into  his 
wife's  face;  while  she, laughing,  blush- 
ing, with  eyes  brimful  of  tears,  sat  in 
the  big  rocker,  and  told  of  her  home, 
her  friends,  her  wearisome  journey, 
and  her  new-found,  sweet  content. 

"  Can't  ye  give  us  a  song,  Bessie  ? 
Not  one  of  yer  ginuine  Scotch,  ye 
know ;  but  one  that  a  feller  can  un- 
derstan'." 

Bessie  smiled.  "Hae  ye  forgot  all 
the  Scotch  I  taught  ye,  Willy  ?  'Tis 
Sabbath  night,  ye  ken,  an' — " 

"  Oh,  call  it  Thanksgivin'.  We  don't 
either  of  us  feel  like  chantin'  a  psalm 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


to-night;  besides,  Bessie,  the  sun's 
gone  down." 

"Weel,  I'll  sing  ye  a  ballad  ye 
ne'er  heard,  but  needna'  spcer  the 
meanin'  o'." 

And,  slipping  her  hand  in  his,  her 
sweet,  clear  voice  warbled, 

"The  lowland  lads  think  they  are  fine, 

But  O  they're  vain  an'  wondrous  gawdy. 
How  much  unlike  the  graceful  mein 
An'  manly  looks  o'  me  Highlan'  laddie ! 

"  O'er  Benty  hill  wi'  him  I'll  run, 

An'  leave  me  hame  an'  lowlan'  daddy, 
Frae  winter's  cauld  an'  summer's  sun 
He'll  screen  me  wi'  his  Highlan'  plaidie. 

"Nae  greater  joy  I'll  e'er  pretend 

Than  that  his  love  prove  true  and  steady, 
Like  mine  to  him,  which  ne'er  shall  end 
While  Heaven  preserves  my  Highlan'  laddie." 

A  silence  fell  on  the  little  group, 
and  the  husband  moved  closer  to  the 
singer  and  laid  his  head  against  her 
arm.  He  would  not  lose  one  instant 
of  this  delicious  stillness  for  the  sweet- 
est speech. 

The  rippling  waters,  the  insects' 
chirr,  and  whippoorwill's  plaintive 
notes  harmonized  with  the  twilight 
hush.  The  thoughts  of  each  were 


busy  with  the  past.  It  is  the  alter- 
nating joy  and  grief  that  make  histo- 
ries, as  pictures  are  formed  of  vary- 
ing light  and  shade. 

Mary  Morgan's  voice  dispelled  the 
silence. 

"Your  song  was  very  sweet.  I 
hope  you  have  come  to  stay.  Did 
you  say  you  left  your  chest  at  the  end 
of  the  stage  route,  and  walked  the 
rest  of  the  way  ?" 

"  Ah  weel,  I  didna'  tire." 

And  she  looked  at  the  head  which 
rested  against  her  knee,  as  a  loving, 
faithful  dog's  might  have  done. 

" Bessie,  little  wife" — and  the  big 
head  raised  slowly,  as  though  roused 
from  slumber — "I've  got  to  git  that 
chist  here  'fore  to  -  morrow  night ! 
Mebbe  'twill  seem's  though  'twant  all 
a  dream  then,  an'  ye'd  come  to  stay. 
Guess  likely  Mis'  Morgan  can  keep  us 
a  spell,  till  we  can  knock  up  a  cabin 
of  our  own.  "Wall,  I  dew  say !  ef 
thav  ain't  them  cows  a-waitin'  thar  by 
the  bars  yit !  Git  me  the  milk-pails, 
Jamie.  Jehoshaphat !  ef  thar's  a  hap- 
pier feller 'n  I  be  'long  this  here  river, 
I'd  like  to  shake  hands  with  him." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

'Have  I  not  said  that  womanhood  involves  all? 
Have  I  not  told  how  the  universe  has  nothing  better  than  the  best  woman?" 

WALT  WHITMAN. 


IN  a  week's  time  the  domestic  ar- 
rangements in  John  Morgan's  home 
had  undergone  a  change,  Bessie  Mor- 
ns taking  entire  charge  of  household 
affairs,  leaving  Mrs.  Morgan  free  to 
begin  the  promised  school. 

A  score  of  rosy-cheeked,  bright-eyed 
girls  and  boys  entered  the  long  bare 
room  one  Monday  morning,  where 
Mrs.  Morgan,  in  cushioned  rocking- 
chair,  sat  awaiting  them,  and  with 
much  whispering  and  giggling,  seated 
themselves  on  the  high,  hard  benches, 
their  shoeless  feet  dangling  several 
inches  from  the  floor. 

"  Children,  haven't  any  of  you  a 
book  ?"  inquired  their  teacher. 

There  was  more  whispering  and 
giggling. 

"Mar  said  I  better  bring  'long  a 
Testamunt,"  one  of  the  largest  girls 
answered,  "but  par  said  'twant  no 
use." 

"But  has  no  one  brought  a  Reader 
or  a  Speller  ?  I  didn't  expect  geogra- 
phies or  arithmetics,  but  I  hoped  you 
had  spelling-books  of  some  kind.  Well, 
when  there's  a  freshet,  we  can  send 
down  the  river  and  cet  books.  Until 


then,  we  must  get  along  with  these 
two  which  I  have.  But  I  want  you 
all  to  go  up  the  creek  to  the  stone- 
quarry  and  get  smooth  flat  stones  to 
mark  on.  Get  them  as  big  as  this 
book  when  it  is  open — so,  and  as  thin 
and  smooth  as  you  can.  Then  get 
some  small  pieces  of  soft  stone  to  mark 
with.  They  will  do  for  slates  and 
pencils  until  we  can  do  better.  Polly 
Brown,  can  you  read  ?" 

"  I  guess  I  kin  a  little :  pop  learnt 
me ;  but  I  hain't  no  book  but  a  Testa- 
ment :  t'other's  all  wore  out." 

"All  who  have  Testaments,  please 
hold  them  up,"  said  the  amateur  and 
much  perplexed  school-ma'am. 

Four  much-soiled  volumes  were  ex- 
hibited ;  and  a  voice  announced, 

"  Mar  has  got  one  in  her  chist ;  an' 
Bob  guesses  his  folks  '11  let  him  bring 
theirn." 

"Very  well;  bring  them  to-morrow, 
and  any  school-books  you  can  find. 
And  now,  Sammy  Brown,  you  and 
Dicky  come  here,  and  tell  me  the 
names  of  these  letters." 

A  little  urging  from  older  sisters 
brought  them  to  her  side;  and  after 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


25 


wriggling  and  giggling  a  moment, 
staring  hard  at  the  pictured  page, 
both  muttered,  "  I  don'  know." 

"  That  is  A,  Sammy ;  say  it— 'A.' " 

"A  what?"  inquired  the  boy;  and 
the  other  children,  big  and  little, 
laughed  outright. 

"The  letter  A,  Sammy :  there,  there, 
children,  stop  laughing !  Letter  A,  and 
letter  B.  Here  they  are  on.  this  page 
too." 

"  Oh,  I  know  now ;  that's  what  pop 
says  when  he's  a-milkin',  and  I'm  a- 
helpin' :  « Let  'er  be— let  'er  be  !' " 

At  this  the  boys  and  girls  broke 
into  another  peal  of  laughter,  in  which 
their  teacher  was  forced  to  join. 

Just  then  came  a  rap  at  the  half- 
open  door :  the  laughing  ceased  as  sud- 
denly as  it  had  begun;  and  as  Mrs. 
Morgan  arose,  the  form  of  a  tall  dark- 
eyed  youth  appeared  in  the  door-way, 
and  hesitatingly  entered. 

"  How-de-do,  Mis' Morgan :  I  thought 
as  how,  seein'  I  was  out  of  a  job,  meb- 
be  you'd  let  a  feller  uf  my  size  cum  to 
your  school  fur  a  spell,"  he  stammer- 
ed. "  I  hain't  never  hed  no  chance  fur 
larnin'  nohow.  An'  I  thought  I'd  like 
to  know  a  little  suthin',  cf  I  hain't  too 
dumb  to  git  at  it." 

"lam  glad  you've  come,  Jack," said 
Mrs.  Morgan,  encouragingly;  "you 
can  help  me  teach  the  children  to 
sing,  and  I  can  help  you  study.  What 
do  you  wish  to  learn  most  ?  Can  you 
read  a  chapter  in  the  Bible  ?" 

"  Wall,  I  -guess  I  cud  git  the  sense 
out  oft ;  but  riggers  is  what  I'm  after 
nco\v.  I  should  like  to  larn  cipherin' 
uncommon  well.  You  see,  fellers  gits 
the  tallest  kind  o'  pay  fur  countin' 
lumber  and  measurin'  off  land,  an'  sich 


work.  An'  ef  you  can  larn  me  to  cal- 
culate how  many  foot  o'  lumber  there 
is  in  a  tree,  an'  how  many  acres  there 
is  in  a  lot  o'  land,  why,  I  tell  ye 
what!  I'd  be  powerful  'bliged  to  ye, 
and  wouldn't  mind  payin'  ye  suthin' 
middlin'  handsome  fur  it,  tew  !  Guess 
't  wouldn't  take  more  'n  a  week  or  so, 
would  it  ?  For  I'm  goin'  off  the 
Fourth,  an'  I'll  hev  to  pitch  into  the 
work  soon's  ever  I  git  back." 

"How  far  have  you  ever  studied 
arithmetic?  Have  you  ciphered 
through  the '  four  rules  ?'  And  do  you 
know  all  the  tables?" 

"  Tables  ?  Don't  know  nothin'  't  all 
'bout  it,  Mis'  Morgan.  Never  seed 
no  figgerin'-book,  as  I  know  on." 

"  Why,  Jack  Rodgers  !  to  learn  all 
you  wish  to  know  of  arithmetic  will 
take  a  year  at  least.  But  I  want  you 
to  try,  and  I'll  help  you  all  I  can." 

"A  hull  year!  well,  I  dew  say!  I 
can't  go  to  school  an'  work  tew,  I 
s'pose.  An'  there's  the  foller  to  burn ; 
an'  it  ought  to  be  got  into  buckwheat 
right  along.  An'  there's  the  bark- 
peelin'  an'  hayin'  an'  raftin',  an'  mebbe 
three  or  four  chances  to  go  down  the 
river.  Bill  Morgan  said  he'd  trust 
me  to  steer  a  toggle-timber  raft  next 
spring,  ef  I'd  go  down  with  him  a  cou- 
ple o'  times  this  season.  I  tell  ye  I 
hate  to  think  o'  bucklin'  right  down 
to  a  book.  But  ef  I  go  at  it,  I'm 
bound  to  go  through ;  blamed  ef  I 
won't !  'n  ef  you'll  kinder  help  me 
along,  I'll  jest  set  right  down  an'  go 
at  it  now.  Ef  you  want  any  o'  these 
young  uns  thrashed,  or  anything  else 
done  that's  in  my  line,  why,  jest  call 
on  me." 

Jamie's    slate    and     pencil    were 


20 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


brought,  and  the  numerals  copied 
from  a  page  of  his  arithmetic  again 
and  again,  until  the  uncouth  charac- 
ters began  to  stand  erect  and  resem- 
ble the  Arabic  numbers. 

By  this  time  Mrs.  Morgan  had  or- 
ganized the  little  school  into  three 
distinct  classes.  The  ABC  schol- 
ars ;  the  Primer  class,  which  included 
Davy;  and  the  Testament  readers, of 
which  Jamie,  though  least  in  age  and 
stature,  stood  first. 

The  whole  school  received  instruc- 
tions in  arithmetic  and  geography, 
with  daily  information  regarding  the- 
ology, history,  and  etiquette. 

A  few  rules  were  laid  down  for  the 
government  of  the  school,  and  the 
circulation  of  the  two  spelling-books 
among  seven  pupils.  Then  they  were 
dismissed,  one  by  one,  each  turning  at 
the  door  to  bow  or  courtesy  to  their 
teacher,  which  ceremony  at  first  near- 
ly convulsed  the  school  with  suppress- 
ed laughter;  but  a  few  days  sufficed 
to  give  more  ease  and  grace  to  the 
queer  "bobs"  of  the  boys  and  the 
comical  "curcheys"  of  the  girls,  as 
they  imitated  the  oft-repeated  exam- 
ple of  their  teacher ;  and  soon  a  whis- 
pered command  from  the  older  girls 
to  the  smaller  children  to  "  make 
your  manners,"  as  they  left  their  seats 
to  start  homeward,  was  a  sufficient  re- 
minder for  all. 

The  introduction  of  the  simple 
words  "Please"  and  "Thank  you" 
was  also  a  strange  innovation ;  but  as 
no  request  was  granted  unless  prefix- 
ed by  the  first,  and  withdrawn  unless 
followed  by  the  second,  the  custom 
soon  became  a  common  one,  in  the 
school-room  at  least. 


The  singing,  however,  was  the  chief 
charm  and  the  greatest  incentive  to 
study. 

"  If  every  word  of  these  two  lines  is 
spelled  correctly,  children,"  Mrs.  Mor- 
gan would  say,  holding  up  the  Web- 
ster's Elementary  before  them,  "  we 
will  sing  *  There's  Much  Good  Cheer,' 
and  the  '  Happy  Land '  before  we  go 
home;  but  whoever  misses  will  have 
to  stay  and  study ;  and  that  will  take 
up  all  the  time." 

Very  eager  were  the  faces  as  they 
hurried  to  their  positions  in  the  spell- 
ing-class and  placed  their  bare  toes  in 
line  with  the  designated  crack  in  the 
floor. 

Very  happy  were  they  when  word 
after  word  was  correctly  pronounced 
and  spelled ;  and  if  at  last  some  un- 
lucky urchin  blundered  through  inat- 
tention or  ignorance,  no  greater  pun- 
ishment was  needed  than  the  black 
looks  of  his  comrades,  censuring  him 
for  depriving  them  of  a  song. 

As  .the  failures  occurred  less  fre- 
quently, the  singing  became  quite  a 
feature  of  the  school,  all  standing, 
with  their  hands  clasped  behind  them, 
heads  erect,  and  shoulders  back,  thus 
resting  body  as  well  as  mind  while 
they  sang, 

"I  think  when  I  read  that  sweet  story  of  old, 

When  Jesus  was  hero  among  men, 
How  he  called  little  children  as  lambs  to  his 

fold, 
I  should  like  to  have  been  with  him  then." 

Wednesday  was  a  half-holiday,  and 
the  morning  was  devoted  to  various 
kinds  of  handicraft  and  singing. 

Mrs.  Morgan  encouraged  the  boys 
to  learn  to  knit,  sew  on  buttons,  darn 
their  stockings  and  mittens,  as  well  as 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


make  fish-lines,  braid  whip-lashes,  and 
whittle  toys. 

The  girls  brought  blocks  of  calico 
for  bedquilts,  straw  for  braiding  hats, 
and  knitting. 

After  the  work  was  well  under  way, 
Mrs.  Morgan  would  read  or  tell  a  sto- 
ry, historical  events  usually  suggest- 
ing the  theme. 

One  day  Jamie  electrified  the 
school  by  reciting  "  Casabianca ;"  and 
from  that  time  speaking  pieces  be- 
came the  "reward  of  merit,"  Mrs. 
Morgan  promising  as  a  great  favor  to 
teach  the  best  boy  some  verses  "  by 
heart,"  for  the  succeeding  Wednes- 
day ;  and  they  who  recited, 

"Poor  and  needy  though  I  be, 
.   God,  my  maker,  cares  for  me ; 
Gives  me  clothing,  shelter,  food, 
Gives  me  all  I  have  that's  good," 

never  forgot  the  words. 

"My  school  governs  itself,"  said 
Mary  Morgan,  one  evening  nearly 
three  months  after  its  beginning. 
"The  very  boys  I  was  afraid  might 
give  me  trouble  seem,  to  try  as  hard 
to  please  me  as  I  do  to  please  them. 
I  overheard  that  comical  little  Sammy 
Brown  telling  Jack  Rodgers  that  by- 
words { was  jest  a  baby  way  of  swear- 
in',  'cause  teacher  said  so.'  And  I  no- 
tice, too,  that  they  are  all  getting 
quite  polite  to  each  other  as  well  as 
to  me.  Not  a  day  passes  without  a 
gift  of  flowers — a  hollyhock  or  nastur- 
tion  from  their  door-yards,  or  wild 
flowers  with  mosses  and  ferns:  the 
tin  cup  I  have  for  a  vase  is  always 
filled.  And  they  are  getting  on  nice- 
ly with  .lessons,  too.  Jack  Rodgers  is 
learning  multiplication  and  division 
already,  and  will  soon  get  into  frac- 


tions. But  having  so  few  books  is  a 
great  bother.  Some  will  learn  their 
spelling-lesson  in  ten  minutes,  and  be 
on  the  lookout  for  mischief,  while  oth- 
ers would  keep  the  book  an  hour.  So 
I  have  arranged  to  let  them  hear  each 
other  go  over  the  lessons,  in  a  whisper 
of  course,  the  one  waiting  for  the  book 
playing  teacher,  which  hurries  the  stu- 
pid ones  considerably.  I  find  they 
take  a  great  deal  of  pride,  of  late,  in 
seeing  how  quickly  they  can  learn  a 
lesson.  If  I  can  only  keep  on  a  few 
weeks  longer,  I  can  teach  them  writ- 
ing; that  is,  if  your  husband  ever 
finds  time  to  make  those  desks,  Bes- 
sie." 

"  'Deed,  rna'am,William  wud  be  mair 
than  glad  to  do  yer  will,  but  the 
wark's  over-lang  for  the  days,  an*  the 
nichts  na'  fit  for  sic  a  job." 

"Oh,  I'm,  not  particular  how  it  is 
done,  so  I  have  a  shelf  put  up  around 
the  room  for  the  books  just  a  little 
slant,  so  that  the  children  can  rest 
their  slates  on  it  as  they  write.  We 
have  so  little  paper  in  the  store,  it 
would  be  useless  to  begin  using  it ;  so 
their  home  -  made  slates  and  pencils 
must  answer  until  there  comes  a 
freshet,  and  I  can  send  to  my  brother 
in  Philadelphia  for  what  we  need.  I 
have  made  out  a  list  to  send  him,  but 
the  weather  will  soon  be  too  cold  to 
use  the  room ;  so  I  expect  nothing 
better  this  term.  If  you  will  stay 
with  me,  Bessie,  maybe  I  can  teach 
again." 

"An'  hae  a  braw  new  scholar  i'  tli' 
schule,  eh?  I  wonder  what  bonny 
name  will  ye'll  enter  i'  th'  buik  'mong 
the  lads  and  lassies?  John  is  na'  sae 
bonny,  but—" 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


"  I  feel  very  sure  we  shall  call  her 
Miriam.  'Twas  my  mother's  name," 
said  Mrs.  Morgan,  softly.  "Do  you 
know,  Bessie,  I  do  so  love  to  read  of 
the  mother  of  our  Lord.  I  wish  there 
was  more  about  her  in  the  Bible.  I 
don't  want  to  pray  to  her,  you  know ; 
but  I  love  to  think  about  her,  and 
how  she  must  feel  for  all  women." 

"What  popish  nonsense  is  that 
you're  talking,  Mary?"  said  her  hus- 
band, rising  suddenly  from  the  door- 
stone,  where  the  evening  shades  had 
concealed  him.  "A  woman  of  your 
sense  ought  to  know  better  than  to 
talk  such  stuff  as  that.  Why,  you'll 
be  having  a  crucifix  hung  up  by  your 
bed,  next,  and  a  string  of  beads  to 
pray  on,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  I'm 
astonished  at  you !  Perhaps  you 
better  send  for  a  priest  to  come 
here  and  form  a  church,  you're  so  anx- 
ious— " 

"Oh,  John!  John!  don't  talk  so! 
Please  don't!  You  frighten  me  when 
you  speak  so  loud.  It  makes  my 
heart  flutter  so !  I  did  not  know  you 
were  sitting  there." 

"  Well,  what  if  you  didn't  ?  What 
do  you  talk  such  popish  nonsense  for? 
I  don't  know  why  it  is,  but  I  can't 
speak  to  you  lately  but  it  sets  your 
heart  a-fluttering!  You  never  used 
to  be  so  silly.  I  think  I  have  enough 
to  make  my  heart  flutter!  There's 
Long  John  been  peeling  over  forty 
cords  of  bark  on  my  land ;  pretends 
he  don't  know  where  the  line  is,  and 
intimates  that  I  don't.  I'll  prosecute 
him,  sure's  he  lives !" 

"I  thought  he  wanted  tew  settle," 
said  Big  Bill,  who  had  just  entered. 

"  Settle  ?    Yes,  he  offers  to  pay  for 


the  bark ;  but  what's  that  ?  Am  I  to 
have  my  property  damaged  that  way 
— hemlock-trees  cut  down  that  I  want 
standing — and  then  let  him  settle  on 
his  own  terms  ?  Wrong  is  wrong,  and 
right  is  right !  And  here  are  store- 
bills  coming  due  next  month,  and  not 
a  cent  to  meet  them.  Goods  trusted 
out,  and  not  a  dollar  in  the  country 
till  after  we  get  a  freshet ;  and  no 
signs  of  rain  either !" 

And  the  man  strode  out  of  the  house 
and  down  to  the  saw-mill,  the  wheels 
of  which  had  long  stood  idle  for  want 
of  water. 

"Ah  me !  puir  winsome  leddy  !"  said 
the  kind-hearted  Scotchwoman,  kneel- 
ing by  Mary  Morgan's  side,  and  chaf- 
ing her  cold,  trembling  hands,  "I  wad 
ye  cud  greit  an'  let  out  the  heart- 
ache." 

"  Oh,  Bessie,  I'm  silly  to  get  fright- 
ened at  nothing !"  she  answered, laugh- 
ing hysterically.  "  He  didn't  mean  it ; 
he  never  used  to  talk  so  in  our  own 
dear  home.  But  now — though  I  have 
been  so  much  stronger  since  you  came, 
you  dear,  kind  wToman  —  but  I  feel — 
Hark !  is  that  wind  ?" 

A  low,  shuddering  moan  crept 
through  the  trees,  then  a  quick  gust 
of  wind  swept  through  the  house,  ex- 
tinguishing the  light,  slamming  the 
doors,  and  awaking  Jamie  and  Davy, 
whose  screams  added  to  the  confu- 
sion. 

A  flash  of  lightning,  a  peal  of  thun- 
der, a  downpour  of  rain  came  almost 
in  the  same  instant.  The  men  came 
running  from  the  barn  and  mill,  drench- 
ed to  the  skin  in  the  momentary  ex- 
posure. 

The  storm  had  crept  unseen  over 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


29 


the  western  hill-tops,  and  broke  with 
fury  in  the  narrow  valley.  A  blaze  of 
light — a  horror  of  darkness — a  crash 
of  cloud  artillery  that  shook  the  earth 
and  filled  every  heart  with  terror; 
then  a  cry  of  bitter  agony  from  Mary 
Morgan's  white  lips;  and  they  carried 
her  to  her  room,  and  laid  her,  fainting, 
on  the  bed. 

All  night  the  storm  raged  without : 
the  horses  pranced  and  neighed,  trem- 
bling iii  their  stalls;  and  the  cattle 
ran  to  and  fro  in  their  pasture,  seek- 
ing shelter  from  the  storm.  The  brook 
sprung  out  of  its  sluggish  sleep,  and 
dashed  and  foamed  over  the  rocks  it 
shrunk  from  months  before. 

The  trees  moaned  and  shivered  with 
the  violence  of  the  wind.  The  blue 
blaze  cleft  the  darkness  every  instant ; 
the  thunder  roared,  and  the  mountains 
gave  back  their  muttered  defiance. 
The  clouds  spread  their  black  man- 
tle up  the  valley  to  the  source  of  the 
stream,  threatening  destruction  to  all 
the  property  along  the  brook. 

Yet  inside  the  tiny  cottage  on  the 


river-bank  raged  a  far  more  fearful 
conflict.  It  was  a  conflict  between 
life  and  death,  while  remorse,  grief, 
sympath)',  and  anxiety  were  helpless, 
trembling  witnesses ! 

No  human  aid  could  be  obtained; 
only  the  God  of  nature  could  decide 
the  struggle !  and  the  night  dragged 
wearily  away, while  with  staring,  sense- 
less eyes  Mary  Morgan  looked  death 
in  the  face,  but  knew  it  not,  and 
clung  to  life,  unconscious  of  the  grasp. 

Slowly  the  clouds  passed  away,  the 
thunder  reverberating  in  the  distant 
mountains.  Slowly  the  pale  light  of 
dawn  crept  over  the  eastern  hills. 

More  slowly  death  retreated,  and 
the  light  of  reason  illuminated  the 
pale  face  of  the  mother. 

Her  eyes  sought  the  little  bundle  in 
Mrs.  Rodgers's  arms. 

Bessie  leaned  over  the  pillow  and 
whispered, 

"  Ye  hae  yer  will.     It  is  Miriam  !" 

A  happy  smile  swept  over  the  face, 
and  then — 

"Being  faint  with  jor,  the  mother  slept." 


CHAPTER  V. 

'For  us  the  wealth-laden  world  laboreth  ever: 
For  us  harvests  ripen,  winds  blow,  waters  roll  ; 

And  he  who  gives  back  in  his  might  of  endeavor, 
I'll  cherish — a  man  ever  dear  to  my  soul." 

GERALD  MASSET. 


TIIE  next  morning  the  river  was 
pronounced  only  two  feet  below  a 
rafting  freshet,  and  still  rising.  Being 
a  "  lightning  fresh,"  that  is,  one  caused 
by  thunder -showers,  its  height  and 
duration  depended  on  the  direction 
the  last  night's  storm  had  taken  ;  and 
it  might  "ran  out"  as  rapidly  as  it 
had  risen ;  so  no  time  was  lost  by 
those  who  had  lumber  to  send  to 
market. 

Before  sunrise  the  river's  bank  was 
thronged  with  men  and  teams ;  and 
the  business  of  rafting  began.  Long 
John  was  engaged  to  raft  the  toggle- 
timber,  and  Sam  Jenkins  the  logs; 
while  Big  Bill  took  charge  of  the 
sawed  lumber. 

Hemlock-scantling  rafts  differ  only 
in  size ;  while  a  piling  or  toggle  tim- 
ber raft  has  the  appearance  of  a  num- 
ber of  large  poles  huddled  together 
with  little  regard  to  size;  the  con- 
structor's skill  being  shown  by  col- 
lecting the  largest  number  of  sticks  in 
the  smallest  space  and  shortest  time, 
with  the  fewest  possible  fastenings. 


The  raftsman's  skill  culminates  in 
the  construction  of  a  log  raft.  That 
their  proficiency  in  so  placing  each 
log  that  its  largest  and  smoothest 
side  be  uppermost,  and  all  defects  be 
hidden,  is  of  art  most  artful,  can  be 
proven  by  the  purchasers. 

Mr.  Morgan  watched  the  men  roll 
the  logs  down  the  steep  bank  into  the 
river,  leap  lightly  on  them  from  the 
shore,  and  ride  them  to  their  places  in 
the  raft  with  such  apparent  ease  that 
he  was  vexed  to  think  he  had  yielded 
to  the  demands  of  the  log-riders  for 
the  highest  ^vages. 

"  That's  more  like  play  than  work," 
he  said  to  Jenkins,  as  he  walked  up 
the  bank  to  select  another  log.  "I 
think  Pll  take  the  place  of  one  of 
your  men." 

Sam  cut  a  wedge  from  the  plug  of 
tobacco  in  his  hand,  turned  one  eye 
upward  to  squint  at  the  clouds  hurry- 
ing across  the  sky,  and  in  his  peculiar 
drawling  tones,  ending  each  sentence 
with  an  "  uh,"  quietly  replied, 

"  Mebbe  ye  wouldn't  like  it 's  well 's 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


31 


ye  think  ye  would.  'X  ef  you  should 
send  off  one  of  these  boys,  I  don' 
know  whar  ye'd  fin'  another  'twould  n't 
rather  worruck  'an  play  'ith  logs  in 
that  there  current:  darned  ef  I  do. 
I'm  agoin'  tew  run  daown  a  double- 
length  naow,  an'  yeou  kin  ride  daown 
'ith  me,  an'  see  haow  ye  like  it.  Roll 
in  that  twenty-four-foot,  boys !" 

"  None  of  your  tricks  now,  Sam," 
said  Mr.  Morgan,  who  thought  he  de- 
tected mischief  in  the  solemn  lines  of 
Sam's  countenance. 

"I  was  jest  a  thinkin'  w'at  yer  wife 
Vd  say  ef —  Hed'nt  ye  better  giv' 
me  yer  watch  to  kerry  fur  ye  ?  Spile 
it  to  git  it  wet,  won't  it  ?  But  ef  ye 
stan'  stiddy,  'ith  yer  heels  square  on 
top  th'  log,  an'  yer  toes  turned  aout, 
I  guess  I  kin  git  yer  daown  t'  th'  raft. 
Ye'll  hev  to  dew  some  purty  lively 
dancin'  fust,  though :  the  roll  off  the 
bank  sets  the  log  a-spinnin'  mighty 
rapid ;  an'  then  yew'll  hev  to  handle 
yer  feet  middlin'  lively  goin'  under 
the  lash-poles,  ur  th'  '11  trip  ye  intew 
th'  river  quicker  'an  lightnin'.  Thar 
she  comes !  Wait  till  I  maount  her, 
an'  steddy  'er  daown  a  little.  Xaow, 
then,  jump !" 

Mr.  Morgan  picked  up  a  pike-pole, 
and,  taking  a  flying  leap,  came  down 
upon  the  log  so  heavily  Sam  was  near- 
ly thrown  from  his  balance ;  but  by 
the  skilful  use  of  his  feet  and  pole 
he  stopped  the  log  rolling,  and  guided 
it  to  the  raft.  Morgan  stood  firmly, 
his  eyes  upon  the  men  who  were  fast- 
ening a  single -length  log  to  the  pro- 
jecting sticks  which  held  the  raft  to- 
gether. 

"  Xaow,  jump  the  lash-poles  !"  yell- 
ed Sara,  obeying  his  own  command. 


Mr.  Morgan  sprang  over  the  first 
and  second  as  the  logs  passed  swiftly 
under  them  ;  but  the  third  caught  his 
foot,  and  he  fell  headlong  into  the 
river,  barely  escaping  being  drawn 
under  the  raft  by  the  current.  He 
crawled  upon  it,  while  the  men  shout- 
ed with  laughter.  Angered  by  their 
rudeness,  but  too  wise  to  betray  the 
feeling,  he  accepted  the  joke,  saying, 

"That  skip-the-rope  movement  was 
too  much  for  me,  boys ;  but  I  can  ride 
a  log  as  well  as  any  of  you.  I'll  ride 
them  down  to  the  point  here,  and  you 
can  place  them  with  your  boat-hooks." 

A  sly  wink  from  Sam  betokened 
mischief. 

"  Wall,  I  want  a  twelve-footer  nex'. 
Ye'd  better  try  a  smallish  un  fust, 
hadn't  ye?" 

"I'll  get  the  log  you  need,  whether 
it's  large  or  small,"  Mr.  Morgan  an- 
swered, impatiently.  "I  could  have 
been  half-way  down  with  it  while 
you've  been  talking.  You  hang  on  to 
your  words  as  though  you  liked  the 
taste  of  them,  and  grunt  as  if  every 
sentence  hurt  you." 

"The  glibbest  talkers  ain't  allers 
the  fastest  workers,  Mister  Morgan ; 
an'  though  I  like  fun,  I  hope  my  words 
ain't  so  bitter  as  to  taste  bad,  nor  so 
sharp  as  to  hurt  me  nor  nobody  else," 
Sam  replied,  with  more  dignity  than 
one  would  have  supposed  possible  for 
the  lank,  freckle-faced  young  man  to 
assume.  "An'  naow,  sir,  ye'd  better 
take  a  fool's  advice  an'  leave  log-rid- 
in'  fur  them  as  understan'  it.  Least- 
ways, ye'd  better  dew  yer  practisin' 
in  still  water." 

"When  I  want  your  advice,  Mr. 
Jenkins, I  will  ask  for  it;  and  it  might 


•32 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


be  well  for  you  to  remember  who  is 
the  employer  and  who  the  employed 
in  this  business." 

"All  right,  Mister  Morgan ;  but 
somehow  we  mountain  men  hev  free 
ways.  We  live  free,  work  free,  an' 
talk  free,  an'  actilly  b'lieve  we  be  free. 
"We  hain't  got  to  usin'  gold  weights 
to  weigh  men  with  here  yit ;  an'  ef 
ye  live,  an'  work,  an'  talk  'ith  us, 
yeu'll  hev  to  take  a  joke  'ith  us." 

"Well,  well:  it  will  be  no  joke  if 
this  freshet  runs  out  before  this  raft 
is  done !  Now  let's  make  up  for  lost 
time ;  and  I  will  get  that  twelve-foot 
log." 

The  oxen  had  already  hauled  the 
log  to  the  roll  -  away ;  and  as  he  ar- 
rived, it  went  thundering  down  the 
bank,  and  plunged  into  the  water, 
dashing  the  spray  high  irt  air. 

"Light  on  'er  'fore  she  gits  in  the 
current !"  shouted  one  of  the  men. 

Morgan  sprang;  the  log  whirled 
rapidly  beneath  his  feet  —  his  feet 
danced  more  rapidly  to  keep  on  top  of 
the  log ;  faster,  faster  the  log  rolled 
as  the  current  caught  it;  a  slip  — a 
plunge — and  he  disappeared  beneath 
the  water.  He  rose,  swam  to  and 
mounted  the  log,  only  to  be  rolled  un- 
der it  on  the  gravelly  bottom;  rose 
again  ;  caught  his  pike  -  pole,  then 
sank,  and  was  borne  out  into  the  swift 
current. 

Sam  leaped  from  the  raft  and 
caught  him  by  the  arm.  Swimming 
to  the  shore,  he  drew  the  half-drowned 
man  to  the  bank,  and  helped  him  to 
the  house;  while  Jack  Rodgers  sprang 
upon  another  log,  overtook  the  estray, 
and  brought  it  to  land. 

All  were  as  busy  in  doors  as  out. 


Mrs.  Rodgers's  "  men  folks  "  having 
no  lumber  to  run  this  freshet,  she  re- 
mained to  assist  Bessie  in  the  unac- 
customed labor  of  preparing  provision 
for  the  rafts. 

Even  Jamie  and  Davy  were  furnish- 
ed employment  in  looking  over  beans, 
beating  eggs,  and  keeping  a  roaring 
fire  under  the  kettles  where  whole 
hams  and  huge  chunks  of  pork  were 
boiling. 

"  Keeps  'em  from  pullin'  the  blank- 
ets off  that  blessed  baby  every  min- 
nit,  ennyhow,"  said  Mrs.  Rodgers, "  ef 
they  dew  hinder  'bout  ez  much  ez 
they  help.  I  guess  they've  kissed 
her  ban'  more  'n  fifty  times  a'ready. 
Wall,  it's,  a  marcy  they  'er  so  much 
tuck  up  'ith  havin'  a  little  sister ! 
They  hain't  never  thought  o'  goin' 
to  the  river  an'  gettin'  drownded  's 
their  mother's  allers  'fraid  they  would 
when  th'  '  fresh '  come.  Wall,  JT'm  al- 
lers a-crossin'  a  bridge  'fore  I  git  to 
it;  an'  then  like  's  not  find  thai*  hain't 
no  bridge  thar,  nor  never  wus." 

And  she  thrust  a  big  pan  of  beans 
and  bacon  into  the  stove-oven,  while 
Bessie  placed  another  of  pumpkin 
bread  beside  the  pile  of  doughnuts, 
which  seemed  to  Bessie's  unsophisti- 
cated eyes  sufficient  for  a  regiment 
of  men. 

The  channel  of  the  Delaware  being 
narrow  and  rocky,  with  frequent  rap- 
ids, it  is  necessary  to  find  a  landing 
every  night,  the  men  seeking  lodging 
in  taverns  or  farm-houses,  wherever  it 
can  be  obtained ;  often  a  score  in  a 
room,  their  beds  on  the  floor  —  any 
place  where  they  can  lie  stretched  out 
— talking,  laughing,  singing,  or  sleep- 
ing, from  dark  till  dawn. 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


Then  rising,  with  shouts  and  jest- 
ing, they  hastily  swallow  their  break- 
fast of  fried  ham  and  eggs,  buckwheat- 
cakes  and  coffee,  and  hurry  to  their 
rafts  while  the  white  mists  of  night 
still  hang  heavily  over  the  river, 
spring  to  their  oars,  push  out,  and 
glide  down  the  stream. 

Dinner  is  a  cold  lunch,  and  a  well- 
filled  dinner-box  a  necessity. 

Dry  clothing  and  a  cup  of  hot  tea 
had  restored  Mr.  Morgan's  vitality, 
but  not  his  equanimity ;  and  the  face 
that  stooped  to  kiss  his  little  daugh- 
ter, though  smiling,  was  not  an  ami- 
able one. 

"Are  you  sure  you  are  not  bruised, 
or  have  not  taken  cold  ?"  inquired  his 
wife.  "How  did  you  happen  to  fall 
in  ?  I  couldn't  hear  all  that  was  said 
in  the  kitchen." 

"Oh,  'twas  nothing  serious;  don't 
worry  about  me.  I'm  not  the  worse 
for  it,  and  shall  raft  scantling  this  af- 
ternoon." 

"Oh,  father!  mayn't  I  help  you? 
Who's  bossing  it — Long  John  ?" 

"No, Bill  Morris.  Ybwhelp?  Well, 
I  guess  you  better  wait  a  few  years. 
But  I'll  tell  you  what  you  can  do. 
I'm  going  to  have  "Fred  help  raft,  and 
you  and  Jamie  can  attend  to  the 
store.  Only,  mind  you  don't  eat  the 
candy." 

"  Tend  store  ?  Oh,  that's  lots  of 
fun  !  Can  we  sell  things  ?" 

"  Yes ;  if  you  get  the  money  for 
them.  Don't  let  any  one  go  behind 
the  counter." 

"Is  Fred  strong  enough  to  raft?" 
inquired  Mrs.  Morgan,  feebly. 

"Yes;  he's  stronger  than  he  looks. 
I  don't  suppose  he'll  be  of  much  use, 
3 


but  'twill  do  him  good.  He  thinks 
too  much  about  his  white  hands  and 
rich  relation.  His  uncle  sent  him  up 
here  to  work  some  of  the  nonsense 
out  of  him ;  and  I  think  rafting  will 
do  it." 

"Mister  Morgan,"  said  Mrs.  Rodg- 
ers,  coming  to  the  door,  "ken  that 
dark  o'  yourn  fix  them  pervision 
boxes  ?  Tea-boxes  is  the  handiest  ef 
ye've  got  enny  empty;  an'  there's 
holes  got  to  be  bored  in  the  sides, 
to  put  rope -handles  in.  Leastways, 
that's  the  best  way  to  fix  'em." 

Promising  to  see  the  boxes  made 
ready,  Mr.  Morgan  hastened  to  the 
river  to  join  the  forces  of  Big  Bill ; 
but  Morris  seemed  disposed  to  find 
him  employment  elsewhere. 

"Tell  ye  what  'tis,  Mister  Morgan," 
he  said, "  thai-  hain't  no  time  t'  lose 
ef  we  git  off  on  this  fresh  ;  an'  I  jest 
wish  you'd  go  an'  hurry  up  them 
teams.  We  hain't  got  more  'n  half 
th'  filiin'  fur  the  cribs  down  here  yet. 
An'  sen'  down  a  bag  o'  wedges  an'  a 
bundle  o'  grubs,  ef  that  thar  shiftless 
Mose  has  got  'em  made  yit.  Can't 
you  take  Fred  an'  go  up  on  th'  hill 
an'  cut  a  couple  o'  dozen  oak  or  hick- 
ory saplin's?  Git  'em  'bout  four  foot 
long,  an'  two  an'  a  half  or  three  inches 
through.  Kinder  grub  'em  up  so's 
to  leave  th'  bulge  o'  th'  root  fur  the 
head  o'  th'  grub.  Guess  that'll  keep 
him  busy  fur  a  spell,"  he  added,  as 
Mr.  Morgan  walked  briskly  away. 
"  He's  a  nice  man,  Mister  Morgan  is, 
but  'pinionated  as  a  mule!  He's 
boun'  to  see  into  th'  hull  business  o' 
raftin' ;  an'  he's  so'  chuck-full  o'  ideas, 
he'd  see  some  new  way  o'  doin'  every- 
thing; an'  nothin'  so  conflusticates  a 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


lot  o'  men's  to  make  'em  do  a  thing 
they  understan'  in  a  way  they  don't 
understan'.  I'm  powerful  glad  to  get 
shet  o'  him  till  we  git  these  'ere  cribs 
in.  Hallo,  Mose !  like  to  got  them 
grubs  here  'n  time  fur  nex'  fresh, 
didn't  ye  ?  Guess  Mister  Morgan  put 
a  leetle  spring  into  ye.  What's  he 
doin'  ?  Hope  he'll  stir  up  them  teams, 
an'  git  that  thar  stuff  down  here  'fore 
long." 

"  Wall,  I  seed  him  an'  Fred  down 
by  th'  lumber  pi-iles;  but  I  didn't 
see  no  wagon  a-loadin',"  Mose  re- 
plied. 

"  Well,  I  hope  they'll  move  faster  'n 
your  tongue,  when  they  dew  git  start- 
ed. Fur  th'  land's  sake,  put  down 
them  grubs,  an'  help  lift  this  crib  off! 
Guess  ye  was  born  on  a  Saturday, 
Mose,  an'  purty  late  in  th'  afternoon 
tew !  Yew  allers  work  an'  talk  as 
ef  thar  wa'n't  no  more  to  dew  this 
week." 

Mose  put  down  the  grubs  he  had 
been  holding  upon  his  shoulder,  and 
lazily  picking  up  a  handspike,  he 
placed  it  under  the  corner  of  the  crib, 
and  putting  his  shoulder  against  the 
stick,  inquired,  "  Reddy,  be  ye  ?" 
Then,  with  a  giant's  strength,  gave  a 
lift  and  a  shove  that  threw  the  crib 
off  the  slide  and  his  corner  to  the  wa- 
ter's edge. 

"Why  didn't  ye  keep  yer  eend 
up  ?"  he  chuckled  ;  "  ycr  a  purty  big 
ma-an,  Bill  Morris,  an'  likely  ye  was 
born  tolerably  airly  in  th'  mornin'; 


but  yeou  can't  pull  an  even  whipple- 
tree  with  me  yit." 

"  Wall,  Mose,  you  be  the  blamedest 
critter  I  ever  see  !  Yer  stronger  than 
an  ox  whe.n  you're  a  mind  to  do  any- 
thing. Now  you  jest  take  holt  agin, 
an'  git  this  'ere  crib  onto  th'  slide  and 
into  th'  water." 

"Wall,  I  guess  I've  got  to  go  down 
an'  see  to  that  toggle -timber  naow. 
Mister  Morgan  he  wants  me  to  steer 
it,  an'  I  w-o-n't  trust  nobody  to  hang 
an  oar  for  me.  'Sides  that,  thar  cleark 
said  he  was  comin'  daown  to  ra-aft: 
an'  I  wan'  to  be  tha-er  t'  see  th' 
fu-un." 

"Fred  goin'  to  raft  toggle -timber? 
Wall,  I  swan  !  He'll  git  the  starch 
tuck  out  o'  him,  I'll  bet !"  exclaimed 
Morris.  "  Jehoshaphat !  look  there! 
ef  there  hain't  that  York  Yankee 
comin'  down  th'  creek  on  a  float  o' 
lumber.  Here  we've  ben  a-haulin'  it 
through  th'  mud  on  wagons,  an'  never 
once  thought  o'  floatin'  it!  Blamed 
cf  I  hain't  reddy  to  bag  my  head,  an' 
sell  it  fur  a  pun'kin." 

"That's  a  smart  idea  o'  Mister  Mor- 
gan's," said  Long  John,  coming  down 
the  bank.  "  Guess  we  kin  hev  all  th' 
teams  a-haulin*  logs  now.  But  ef  he 
brags  any,  you  jest  twit  him  o'  ridin' 
logs." 

"Come,  all  hands,"  shouted  Mr. 
Morgan,  pushing  the  float  to  the 
shore,  "  pull  out  this  scantling  before 
we  go  to  dinner.  There  goes  the 
horn !" 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"The  pure  sweet  fountains  chant  of  heavenly  hope: 
The  chorus  of  the  rills  is  household  love: 
The  rivers  roll  their  song  of  social  joy : 
The  ocean's  organ  voice  is  sounding  forth 
The  hymn  of  Universal  Brotherhood." 


A  SCORE  of  men  entered  the  kitch- 
en, after  stamping  the  mud  from  their 
feet  upon  the  door-stone,  and  using 
the  tin  wash-basin  and  crash -towel 
hanging  outside  the  door. 

With  much  scraping  of  chairs  and 
shuffling  of  feet  upon  the  bare  floor, 
they  seated  themselves  around  the 
well-laden  table. 

A  few  heads  were  bowed  while  Mr. 
Morgan  murmured  words  of  thanks  to 
the  Giver  of  all  Good ;  and  then  the 
work' of  emptying  the  dishes  began, 
Bessie  and  Mrs.  Rodgers  refilling  them 
as  soon  as  their  contents  were  exhaust- 
ed. Indeed,  a  looker-on  might  have 
supposed  the  consumers  and  suppli- 
ers were  each  trying  to  overcome  the 
other. 

But  in  twenty  minutes  the  suppliers 
conquered  ;  and  the  consumers  one  by 
one  left  the  scene  of  conflict,  until  only 
Mose  remained  to  demolish  the  piles 
of  potatoes,  corned-beef,  and  pumpkin- 
pie  still  left  upon  the  table.  In  five 
minutes  more  he,  too,  retreated,  and 
the  women  were  left  to  dispose  of  the 
debris  of  the  meal. 


SARA  J.  HALE. 

The  clerk  accompanied  the  men  in 
his  usual  city  dress,  they  exchanging 
glances,  and  muttering  their  guesses 
that  "them  store-clothes  won't  look 
so  slick  long." 

Reaching  the  river-bank,  the  group 
divided,  each  party  going  to  its  own 
place  of  labor.  Fred  joined  the  forces 
of  Long  John  above  the  logs  and  be- 
low the  scantling-rafts. 

Running  lightly  across  the  loose 
sticks  which  lay  between  the  shore 
and  the  raft,  Long  John  left  them 
whirling  and  plunging  behind  him. 

Seeing  the  men  were  waiting  for 
him  to  pass  over,  Fred  followed.  The 
small,  slippery  logs  rolled  and  sunk 
beneath  his  feet ;  but  to  the  evident 
surprise  and  disappointment  of  the 
spectators,  he  reached  the  raft  with 
only  one  bootful  of  water. 

"Wall, tha-at  wa'n't  bad  fur  a  green- 
horn !"  exclaimed  Mose,  who  had  has- 
tened to  the  bank,  and  stood  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  and  a  grin  of 
expectation  upon  his  leathery  face. 
"  I've  seed  ol'  han's  do  wus  'n  tha-at !" 

"Oh,  that's    nothing,"  said    Fred, 


30 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


lightly ;  "  though  I  believe  Long  John 
set  those  poles  spinning  and  plunging 
on  purpose  to  give  me  a  cold  bath.  I 
am  sorry  to  disappoint  you  all,  but  I 
don't  think  I  can  afford  to  entertain 
you  as  Mr.  Morgan  did.  If  I  can't 
keep  my  balance  and  footing  with  any 
of  you,  let  me  know  it,  please ;"  and 
the  young  man  executed  a  brilliant 
rigadoon  upon  the  log,  whirling  and 
bowing  to  an  imaginary  partner.  "I 
have  practised  walking  a  slack-rope, 
riding  a  horse  bare -back,  and  leap- 
ing and  tumbling  with  circus -boys 
in  New  York  rather  too  much  to  be 
taught  anything  in  that  line  by  you 
fellows,"  he  said,  with  a  toss  of  the 
head  and  a  half-contemptuous  smile. 

"  That's  so,  boys,"  said  Long  John. 
"  You  thought  you'd  have  a  leetle  fun 
seem'  a  greenhorn  ride  an'  raft  tog- 
gle-timber; but  you'll  hev  to  go  to 
school  to  him  to  learn  to  do  it  circus 
fashion." 

Fred,  uncertain  how  to  take  the 
laugh  which  followed,  determined  to 
outdo  them  all,  and  proposed  to  ride 
one  of  the  timbers  about  the  size  of  a 
sloop's  mast  to  its  place  in  the  raft. 

But  Long  John,  with  an  expressive 
glance  at  Fred's  soft  white  hands,  or- 
dered him  to  try  boring  holes  first. 

"  Take  this  long  auger.  'Tain't  nat- 
eral  fur  you  to  stoop ;  an'  you  kin  use 
this  an'  keep  yer  chin  level  with  yer 
ears." 

"I  was  taught  that  man  was  cre- 
ated upright,"  retorted  Fred, "  and  the 
place  for  his  chest  was  under  his 
chin ;  but  you  fellows  shoulder  your 
chests  and  go  bent  over  like  hump- 
backs." 

u  Well,  well,  we've  fooled  away  too 


much  time  already,"  said  Long  John, 
impatiently.  "  Carry  yer  chest  and 
chin  where  you  please ;  an'  ef  you 
stan'  upright,  see  't  you  bore  them 
holes  down  right." 

Fred's  voice  rung  out  loudest  in  the 
laugh  that  applauded  this  witticism ; 
but  his  contemptuous  "  you  fellows  " 
was  not  forgotten. 

His  gymnastic  exercises  had  so 
strengthened  the  muscles  of  his  arms, 
shoulders,  and  loins,  that  probably  no 
man  upon  the  raft  could  drive  an  au- 
ger with  greater  ease  and  rapidity 
than  he.  Intent  upon  again  surpris- 
ing them,  he  walked  across  the  raft 
with  the  auger  upon  his  shoulder ; 
but  he  quickly  learned  that  a  toggle- 
timber  raft  was  a  series  of  traps  for 
the  unwary;  for  the  second  stick  sank 
as  he  stepped  upon  it.  He  sprang  to 
another,  but  his  foot  slipped,  and  he 
came  down  astride  it,  and  up  to  his 
waist  in  water. 

"That's  circus  fashion,  I  s'pose," 
said  Long  John;  "much  obleeged  fur 
th'  show :  but  ef  you've  got  cooled 
off,  I'd  like  to  hev  ye  go  to  work." 

With  an  exclamation  more  em- 
phatic than  polite,  Fred  succeeded  in 
drawing  himself  out  of  the  water, 
looking  more  heated  than  cooled. 

"You  call  this  timber  rafted,  do 
you?  only  the  forward  end  of  the 
sticks  fastened!  The  slippery,  squirm- 
ing eels!"  exclaimed  Fred,  as,  after 
several  slips  and  many  falls,  amidst  a 
running  fire  of  comments  from  the 
men,  he  scrambled  across  the  raft. 

"See  Fred  a-coonin'  of  it!"  shout- 
ed Mose.  "Look  out,  ur  ye'll  git  yer 
che-est  wet !" 

"  Good  at  tumblin',  ain't  he?"  said 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


another;  "practised  'ith  circus  boys, 
ye  know." 

"  Got  yer  foot  in,  but  lost  yer  bal- 
ance, didn't  ye  ?"  said  Long  John. 

"If  you  had  rafted  the  timber 
properly,  I  shouldn't  have  got  my 
boots  full  of  water,"  Fred  answered, 
good  -  huraoredly.  "I'd  like  to  see 
any  man  walk  on  these  loose  poles 
with  a  couple  of  gallons  of  water  in 
his  boots !  There's  room  enough  for 
a  horse  to  fall  between  them  in  some 
places." 

"Mebbe  so:  a  boss's  cousin  kin, 
we  know." 

"Pretty  good,  Uncle  John;  you're 
quite  a  poet !  To  walk  your  raft 
would  take  a  go-at,"  retorted  Fred, 
laughing.  "Now  I'll  get  even  with 
the  slippery  fellows  by  boring  them." 

"  Use  yer  auger  then,  and  give  yer 
tongue  a  rest,"  growled  Long  John, 
"  or  ye'll  bore  us  'stead  the  timber." 

"  Wall,  John,  yev  got  yer  ma-atch 
in  that  youngster.  I  guess  he's  'bout 
as  tonguey  ez  yew  be ;  an'  he  han'els 
that  thaer  auger 's  tho'  he's  use'  to  it." 

"  Well,  I  guess  he'll  larn  a  leetle 
somethin'  yit  'fore  he's  through  raft- 
in',"  Long  John  answered,  giving  a 
final  blow  to  a  bow  which  held  a  log 
to  its  lash-pole. 

"Likelier  'an  no-ot,"  answered  Mose, 
chuckling.  "Neow  I'm  goin'  up  to 
help  Big  Bill  a  spell.  S'pose  he's 
growlin'  fur  more  grubs  'fore  this 
time." 

While  the  men  were  making  a 
boom  to  catch  and  hold  the  lumber 
from  being  floated  down  the  brook, 
Morris  was  inducting  Mr.  Morgan 
into  the  mysteries  of  rafting  scant- 
ling. 


"Here  goes  fur  the  las'  crib,"  he 
said.  "Ketch  holt  o'  this  ere  plank, 
will  ye?  Turn  'er  up  sideways,  an' 
stick  grubs  thro'  them  auger -holes 
(guess  it  would  be  better  to  hev  th' 
heads  all  on  one  side,  wouldn't  it?). 
Turn  'er  down  now,  heads  under; 
now  this  one.  That's  all  right.  Now 
another;  keep  it  straight  on  the  slide! 
There,  now,  the  runners  is  ready  for 
the  side -pieces.  Take  any  of  'em; 
they're  jest  alike.  Now  lift  'er;  hold 
her  stiddy  till  I  git  the  grub  an'  au- 
ger-holes so's  they'll  match.  Your 
eend  right  ?  Now  slide  'er  down ! 
Now  fur  t'other  two.  All  right ! 
Now  han'  me  that  there  axe,  will  ye? 
Ye  see  I  jest  cut  into  this  grub  an' 
split  down  a  sliver  of  it  tew  th'  plank; 
an'  then  drive  the  wedge  into  th'  grub 
an'  the  auger-holes  to  onct;  an'  thar 
can't  nothin'  work  this  frame  apart. 
Now  fur  th'  fillin'.  Any  o'  them 
there  eighteen -foot  '11  dew;  but  the 
las'  plank  must  be  jest  wide  enough  t' 
fit  tight  an'  wedge  'em  all  in.  Nex' 
comes  th'  caps:  they're  put  on  th' 
grubs,  jest  like  the  runners,  to  hold 
th'  fillin'  firm.  Thare,  sir :  we've  got 
th'  las'  crib  ready  fur  lanchin' !  Guess 
we  kin  git  off  to-morrer  forenoon, 
sure.  Hallo,  boys  !  come  an'  help  git 
this  crib  in !" 

"  No,  no,  Bill.  Just  put  rollers  un- 
der it,  and  we  can  get  it  in  alone. 
These  bits  of  lash  -  poles  are  just'  th' 
thing." 

"Rollers?  Well,  I  swan !  I  don' 
know  but  we  kin.  Blamed !  I  don't 
see  why  I  couldn't  thought  o'  that 
m'self.  Here  I've  ben  liftin'  nuff  to 
bust  a  blood-vessel,  an'  got  th'  crib 
all  yanked  out  o'  shape  too.  All 


38 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


ready?  Heave -o-he!  Slides  in  stid- 
dy  's  a  board,  don't  sue  ?  S'pose  you 
an'  me  kin  couple  th'  crib  alone  ?" 

"  Well,  I  think  Sanders  and  Jim  can 
get  the  lumber  down  as  fast  as  you 
will  need  it,  and  you  can  have  the 
other  boys  on  the  raft.  They  seem  to 
have  plenty  of  time  for  fooling  on 
that  toggle-timber." 

"  Wa'n't  that  ruther  rough  on  Fred? 
Raftin'  those  leetle  logs  ain't  no  fool 
of  a  job;  an'  Long  John  hain't  no 
more  feelin'  fur  a  greenhorn  than  a 
pine  knot." 

"'Twill  do  him  good,  do  him  good  ! 
Take  the  conceit  out  of  him.  I  only 
hope  Long  John  '11  get  the  raft  fin- 
ished before  night." 

"  Oh,  he'll  git  it  done.  There  ain't 
no  better  worker  'long  this  river. 
Wall,  now  we  want  one  o'  them 
planks  'long -side  o'  ye — t'other  one, 
with  a  hole  bored  in  one  end  and  two 
in  the  middle.  Now  jest  slip  the  end- 
hole  over  the  middle  grub;  an'  th' 
middle  holes  fits  into  these  'ere  grubs 
on  this  crib  an'  that  jines  the  cribs  an' 
holds  'em  stiddy,"  Big  Bill  ejaculated, 
between  the  blows  of  his  axe,  which 
drove  the  plank  firmly  to  its  place. 

"I  see,"  responded  Mr.  Morgan. 
"This  end  overlapping,  strengthens 
the  raft — one  each  side,  and  one  in  the 
middle.  Now  I  suppose  the  bottom 
is  done." 

"Yes,  sir.  Come,  boys,  more  lively 
there!  we've  got  to  git  one  course 
on  by  moonlight,  ef  we  don't  afore. 
There  '11  be  a  boorain'  fresh  by  morn- 
in',  judgin'  by  th'  clouds,  an'  we've 
got  to  pull  out  'fore  noon.  Sanders, 
haul  out  more  o'  that  twelve -foot 
stuff.  Got  to  begin  with  that,  Mister 


Morgan,  so  's  not  to  break  jints  'tween 
th'  cribs.  Each  course  must  lap  over 
the  ends  o'  the  one  under,  you  know. 
'Twould  be  a  purty  shaky  concern  to 
git  over  Cochecton  falls  an'  Lacka- 
wack  dam  ef  th'  timber  was  all  th' 
same  length.  Take  as  many  steers- 
men as  there  was  cribs  'fore  she'd  run 
under  Trenton  bridge.  Hello,  Mose  ! 
thought  we's  so  nigh  through  you'd 
venture  down  here,  did  ye  ?  I  jest 
wish  ye  hod  to  buckle  right  down  to 
work  like  the  rest  of  us  once — blamed 
if  I  don't!" 

"  Wall,"  drawled  Mose,  "I  ca  -  ant 
see  no  use  in  workin'  hard  's  ye  kin 
the  hull  time ;  and  I'm  jest  ez  well  off 
as  any  on  ye.  I've  got  'nuff  t'  eat, 
an'  'nuff  t'  we-aur,  an'  thar  hain't  no 
smarter  woman  'n  I've  got  'n  all  cre- 
ashun." 

"That's  so;  ef  she  wa'n't  ye  wouldn't 
allus  hev  plenty  tew  eat ;  but — " 

Shouts  of  laughter  from  the  toggle- 
timber  raft  again  attracted  their  at- 
tention, and  Mose  sauntered  away  to 
learn  the  cause  of  their  fun. 

Fred  was  again  the  victim.  The 
auger  turning  in  his  ungloved  hands 
made  them  smart  furiously;  and  he 
looked  about  for  some  new  employ- 
ment. 

Fastening  the  logs  in  place  by 
wedging  the  wooden  bows  into  the 
auger- holes  looked  simple  and  easy; 
and  the  moment  one  of  the  men  went 
ashore  for  more  plugs,  Fred  dropped 
the  auger  and  took  up  the  axe. 

"Hold  on;  I  ain't  swopping  jobs !" 
the  man  called  out. 

"Oh,  I  want  to  learn  the  whole 
business.  I  know  all  about  boring 
holes.  Give  me  a  plug,  like  a  good 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


fellow;  and  show  me  how  to  get 
these  loops  of  wood  apart.  You 
fasten  them  together  to  keep  them 
bent,  don't  you?  They  spring  out 
nearly  straight,  now  they're  apart. 
Well,  you  mountain  men  have  heaps 
of  ingenuity,  or  Yankee-nuity,  rather. 
The  middle  of  the  bow  cut  thin  to 
let  it  bend,  and  the  ends  shaped  like 
wedges;  then  the  ends  of  each  loop 
caught  in  the  loop  of  the  other  to 
hold  them  in  shape.  I  say,  you  just 
change  works  with  me  for  a  few  min- 
utes, won't  you?  And  then  I'm  go- 
ing to  ride  logs." 

The  man  good-naturedly  picked  up 
the  auger,  while  Fred,  after  driving 
the  bow  in  its  place,  put  a  plug  in  the 
hole  beside  it,  and  raised  the  axe  for 
one  vigorous  blow  which  should  drive 
it  firmly  in. 

The  axe  came  down — the  plug  flew 
up  —  and  poor  Fred  staggered  back- 
ward with  one  hand  over  his  nose, 
and  the  blood  trickling  between  his 
fingers,  the  rebounding  plug  having 
struck  him  full  in  the  face. 

"Wall,  neow,  that's  rough!"  ex- 
claimed the  man  with  the  auger. 
"The  tarnel  ol'  plug  must  a  knowed 
you's  a  greenhorn.  You  quit  yer 
laughin',  boys !  I'll  bet  you've  bin 
hit  on  th'  nose  yerselves,  an'  hain't 
forgot  the  feeliu'  nuther." 

"  Much  obliged,  Brown ;  but  I  ain't 
hurt,  only  got  the  nose  -  bleed,"  said 
Fred,  dipping  his  handkerchief  in  the 
river  and  pressing  it  to  his  face. 
"Pour  a  little  water  on  the  back  of 
my  neck  with  your  hand,  will  you? 
There,  now  I'm  all  right." 

"  I  vum !  ef  you  ain't  'bout  the 
pluckest  chap  fur  yer  size  I  ever 


see'd.  Accidents  will  happen  —  can't 
allers  hit  a  thing  squar'  on  th'  head 
—  but  ther'  ain't  nothing  like  ac- 
cidents fur  provin'  ye'r  good  tim- 
ber." 

"That's  so!"  assented  the  other 
men,  as  they  resumed  their  work. 

Some  long  sticks  lying  on  the  up- 
per banking  ground  were  wanted; 
and  Fred,  although  his  hands  were 
badly  blistered  and  his  nose  stinging 
with  pain,  immediately  volunteered  to 
bring  them  down. 

"Better   try  one   o'  these   in  the 
eddy  fust,"  said  Brown. 
.  Fred  hesitated. 

"Yes,  we  hain't  got  no  time  to 
chase  arter  runaway  logs,  nor  drag 
th'  river  fur  drownded  boys,"  added 
Long  John. 

"Don't  fret  your  gizzard  about  me, 
Uncle  John,"  Fred  answered.  "You 
won't  be  called  upon  to  mourn  the 
untimely  loss  of  life  or  lumber  on  my 
account;"  and,  pike  -  pole  in  hand,  he 
carefully  but  quickly  picked  his  way 
across  the  raft  and  loose  logs  to  the 
shore. 

The  required  sticks  were  rolled  in. 
Jack  Rodgers  sprang  lightly  upon 
the  foremost,  and  steered  it  down  the 
stream,  while  the  log  glided  through 
the  water  like  a  huge  snake.  Fred 
leaped  upon  the  next  one,  using  his 
pike-pole  as  a  balance-stick,  standing 
upon  the  rolling  log  with  perfect  ease 
and  grace,  singing, 

"  What  the  city  boys  don't  know,  don't  know, 
The  Delaware  boys  can't  show,  can't  show ; 
For  they  work  all  day  and  dance  all  night, 
And  are  ready  for  a  row,  a  fire,  or  a  fight. 
And  all  the  girls  are  crazy  to  catch  a  city  beau, 
That's  so,  boys ;  that's  so,  that's  so." 


40 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


"Steer  yer  log  toward  shore," 
called  a  man  from  the  bank. 

"Let  him  alone,"  said  another;  "do 
him  good  to  git  a  duckin'." 

"  It's  gittin'  a  strong  pint  to  Jarsey. 
I  want  to  see  him  git  her  aroun'." 

The  log  was  gliding  toward  the  op- 
posite shore  writh  no  apparent  inclina- 
tion of  joining  its  companions  in  the 
eddy. 

Fred  tried  to  change  its  direction 
by  placing  his  pole  on  the  lower  side 
of  the  log ;  but  the  current  was  swift 
and  strong ;  the  pole  caught  against  a 
stone ;  the  log  struck  the  pole,  and, 
like  a  flash,  Fred  was  thrown  head- 
long into  the  river. 

The  shouts  of  the  men  mingled 
with  the  roar  of  the  water  in  his  ears 
as  he  rose  to  the  surface.  He  saw  the 
log  on  his  left  hand,  and  beside  him 
the  pike -pole  bobbing  along,  the  iron 
point  sinking  to  the  bottom.  He 
grasped  the  pole  and  swam  to  the  log. 
Remembering  Mr.  Morgan's  experi- 
ence, he  decided  not  to  mount  it;  but 
plunging  his  pike -pole  deep  into  the 
end,  he  swam  to  the  raft,  towing  the 
log  behind  him,  and  puffing  like  a 
steam-tug. 

The  men  laughed  and  cheered ;  and 
even  Long  John  was  forced  to  admire 
the  pluck  which  redeemed  the  prom- 
ise of  saving  lumber  as  well  as  life. 

"Wall,  Fred,"  he  said,  pulling  him 
upon  the  raft,  "you're  a  purty  good 
steamboat,  ef  you  ain't  much  of  a  log- 
rider.  But  we've  hed  enough  of  your 
circus  performances.  Every  man  an' 
boy  has  hed  to  quit  work  an'  watch 
your  shines;  and  I  hain't  agoin'  to 
hev  any  more  foolin'." 

"Sa-ay,  Fred,"   called   Mose   from 


the  bank,  "guess  ye've  got  to  stop 
raftin'  neow.  Mister  Morgan  says 
there's  some  wimmen  t'  th'  store  th' 
boys  ca-an't  wait  on." 

Fred  seated  himself  upon  a  pile  of 
plugs,  and  deliberately  pulled  off  his 
boots  and  emptied  the  water  from 
them ;  then  slowly  drew  them  on. 

"I'd  really  like  to  try  another 
stick,"  he  said,  looking  up  the  river ; 
"but  business  before  pleasure — even 
the  pleasure  of  hearing  Uncle  John 
growl.  So  here  goes  for  a  trade  be- 
tween butter  and  buttons,  or  cheese 
and  calico." 

The  morning  sun  saw  the  glittering 
hill-tops  rising  like  islands  in  a  sea  of 
mist.  A  white  frost  had  gilded  the 
hemlocks,  silvered  the  rocks,  jewelled 
the  moss,  while  the  valleys  were  filled 
with  white  billowy  fog,  which  rose, 
cloudlike,  upward,  then  drifted  into 
fragments,  and  floated  away.  Soon 
the  sunbeams,  gliding  earthward,  light- 
ed up  a  busy  scene. 

One  raft  was  pulling  out  from 
shore ;  some  boards  were  being  added 
to  the  cargo  of  another;  while  Big 
Bill,  everywhere  present  in  person  or 
voice,  was  giving  final  directions  in 
regard  to  the  scantling  raft  which  he 
was  to  steer. 

"We've  got  three  courses  clean 
thro',"  he  was  saying  to  Mr.  Morgan, 
"an'  that's  enuff  fur  th'  ends  ;  but  we 
can  take  four  more  layers  in  the  mid- 
dle (each  course  runs  ten  foot  back  o' 
t'other,  ye  see) ;  an'  them  cherry  an' 
bird's-eye  maple  boards  kin  go  ef  you 
say  so,  though  the  river  won't  git  no 
higher  this  fresh.  Hello,  Sanders! 
got  them  tie-pieces  bored  yet?  All 
right !  Now,  Mister  Morgan,  ye  kiu 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


41 


help  put  blades  in  these  'ere  oar- 
stems.  I'm  mighty  particular  'bout 
the  oars  on  the  raft  I  steer.  A  poor 
oar  makes  a  poor  hand !  "Wall,  I 
guess  this  '11  strike  th'  water  th'  hull 
length  ;  though  I'd  ruther  hev  a  maple 
blade,  an'  a  leetle  thinner  at  th'  fin- 
end ;  this  is  purty  springy,  though. 
Sanders,  jest  bore  another  cross-piece 
fur  a  head-block,  will  ye,  while  I  git 
these  oar-pins  ready?  You  see,  Mister 
Morgan,  it's  a  particular  nice  job  to 
git  the  oar-pin  in  plumb;  so  I  ruther 
tend  t'  that  myself.  Now,  let's  run 
out  the  oar  an'  git  its  balance.  It 
ought  to  hang  so  's  ye  could  raise  th' 
blade  out  o'  the  water  by  pressin' 
down  on  the  tip  end  o'  the  oar- stem 
with  yer  finger.  Kin  ye  do  it?  All 
right.  Now  hold  'er  stiddy  while  I 
mark  'er  fur  borin'.  You  see  I  bore 
one  auger -hole  clean  thro',  and  two 
holes  part  way,  an'  so  make  a  taperin' 
mortice  ending  in  a  auger-hole :  that 
lets  the  oar  play  up  an'  down  'thout 
wabblin'.  Now  les'  ship  'er !  Hangs 
a  leetle  too  low;  ought  to  come  to 
my  waist.  Brown,  toss  over  that  butt 
of  a  lash-pole  !  That  '11  do  fur  an  oar- 
block.  All  right  now  !  "While  you're 
finishin'  th'  loadin',  boys,  I'll  git  th' 
dinner-box.  See  't  yer  ready  when  I 
be." 

"  Wall,  don't  stay  to  kiss  yer  wom- 
an more  'n  onct,  fur  th'  water's  fall- 
in'." 

"I  meant  to  took  my  wife  'long, 
Sanders,  but  Mis'  Morgan  can't  spare 


her  now.  I  swan !  I  hope  she  won't 
cry,"  he  muttered  as  he  went  up  the 
path  to  the  door. 

He  found  Bessie  awaiting  him  with 
a  smile  and  a  kiss  ;  but  no  tears  vent- 
ured farther  than  the  brown  lashes 
of  her  blue  eyes. 

"If  you  see  me  mither,  or  ony  o'  me 
kin,  tell  'em  I'm  happy  a'  th'  day." 

The  dinner  -  box  was  ready,  some 
clothing  tied  in  a  colored  handker- 
chief on  top  of  it ;  and  Mr.  Morgan, 
after  a  hasty  "  good-bye  "  to  his  wife 
and  children,  helped  to  carry  it  to  the 
raft.  The  rope  was  untied  from  the 
tree  and  thrown  on  board.  The  men 
sprung  to  their  oars,  while  those  upon 
the  shore  pushed  and  pried.  Jamie 
and  Davy  shouted ;  Fred  waved  his 
hat;  Bessie  stood  in  the  door-way  and 
let  the  tears  flow  unchecked,  until  the 
autumn -tinted  hill,  the  sunlit  river, 
and  gently  gliding  raft  mingled  in  a 
rainbow-tinted  mist. 

Two  weeks  passed,  and  the  rafts- 
men were  all  home  again,  with  gifts 
which  more  than  atoned  for  their 
absence.  Besides  the  messages  from 
the  old  home,  and  the  new  bonnet  for 
Bessie,  Morris  brought  a  package  of 
books  for  Mrs.  Morgan,  which  glad- 
dened the  hearts  of  the  whole  house- 
hold. 

A  week  later  Mr.  Morgan  returned 
in  better  humor  with  himself  and  the 
world  than  since  the  purchase  of  his 
Delaware  estate,  having  disposed  of 
his  lumber  at  good  prices. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


"  Folks  say  a  wizard  to  a  Northern  king 

At  Christmas-time  such  wondrous  things  did  show, 
That  through  one  window  men  beheld  the  spring, 
And  through  another  saw  the  summer's  glow; 
And  through  the  third,  the  fruited  vines  arow ; 
While  still-  unheard,  but  in  its  wonted  way, 
Piped  the  drear  wind  of  that  December  day." 

WILLIAM  MOBRIS. 


WINTER  came :  the  snow  lay  three 
feet  deep  upon  the  ground.  Paths 
from  the  barn  and  store  and  the  well- 
beaten  roads  alone  broke  the  white 
wilderness  stretching  from  the  cot- 
tage to  the  wooded  hills.  River  and 
brook  were  hidden,  roofs  and  trees 
loaded,  and  still 

"All  the  air  was  dizzy  and  dim 
With  the  fall  of  glittering,  fluttering  snow." 

"  What  is  SHOW,  mother  ?"  inquired 
Davy. 

They  were  sitting  by  the  window ; 
Mary  Morgan  with  her  babe  in  her 
arms,  and  her  boys  beside  her,  wea- 
ried by  a  snow  frolic  with  Big  Bill. 

"The  snow,  my  son?"  his  mother 
said,  dreamily.  "I  think  it  is  the 
christening  robe  of  the  New  Year." 

"I  remember  when  Davy  was  chris- 
tened, mother,"  said  Jamie.  "  'Twas 
in  Grandpa  Walton's  church,  and  Un- 
cle Dave  was  sponsor.  Who's  New 
Year's  sponsor,  mother?" 


I  guess.  She  makes  the 
promises,  and  keeps  them  as  well  as 
sponsors  generally  do." 

"And  who  is  father  and  mother  to 
New  Year?" 

"Time  is  the  father,  and  I  think 
Earth  must  be  its  mother." 

"  Where  be  they  ?  I  don't  see  'em," 
exclaimed  Davy,  climbing  upon  a 
chair,  and  flattening  his  nose  against 
the  window-pane.  "Where's  New 
Year?" 

"With  God;  he'll  send  it  to  us 
soon." 

"Mother  Nature's  hair  is  getting 
white,"  continued  Jamie.  "See  the 
hemlocks  on  the  hill.  The  baby  year 
is  going  to  have  a  soft  bed;  the  wind 
is  fixing  the  blankets  so  's  to  be  all 
ready.  See  !"  and  Jamie  pointed  to 
a  whirling  mass  of  snow  hovering 
over  and  then  settling  down  upon 
the  meadows. 

"And  now  they're  shaking  up  the 
pillows.  Oh,  look  !  see  how  the  feath- 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


43 


ers  fly,"  and  he  laughed  merrily  as 
the  large  snow-flakes  fluttered  against 
the  window. 

"  Yes,  I  see,"  said  his  mother ;  "  and 
the  clouds  are  weaving  beautiful  flee- 
cy garments  for  the  New  Year  to 
wear;  and  Frost  is  making  sparkling 
jewels  and  dazzling  toys  for  it  to 
play  with." 

"  Well,  I  can't  see  anything  but  a 
snow-storm,"  said  Davy,  impatiently ; 
"  an'  there  ain't  no  bed,  nor  baby,  nor 
nothin'." 

"  Oh,  you  prosy  little  mortal !  there 
isn't  a  particle  of  poetry  in  you.  You 
arc  as  like  your  name-author  as  a  lit- 
tle pea  is  like  a  big  one  !  I  hoped  we 
would  get  a  letter  from  your  uncle 
David  this  week.  I  want  one  for  my 
Christmas  present." 

"And  to-morrow  is  Christmas,  isn't 
it?" 

"Yes,  Jamie." 

"  Will  St.  Nicholas  find  us  here  in 
the  woods,  do  you  s'pose  ?" 

"I  think  so;  though  he  cannot 
bring  any  nice  toys  so  far ;  so  a  little 
must  satisfy  my  boys." 

"How's  he  going  to  get  his  sleigh 
through  the  drifts,  I'd  like  to  know  ? 
Jim  said  the  snow  was  over  the  logs 
so  the  oxen  couldn't  haul  'em  out. 
An'  I  don't  believe  reindeers  is  big- 
ger 'n  oxen ;  be  they,  mother  ?" 

"Are  they,  Davy.  I  never  saw  St. 
Nicholas's  reindeers ;  but  if  he  can't 
come  with  his  sleigh  through  the 
drifts,  he  can  on  foot.  Hark!  didn't 
some  one  knock  ?" 

"  Oh,  it's  him,  Davy  !  it's  St.  Nick, 
I'll  jest  bet  anything  !"  cried  Jamie, 
pressing  his  face  close  to  the  window 
to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  man  knock- 


ing at  the  outer  door  of  the  adjoining 
room.  "He's  all  dressed  in  fur,  an' 
he's  awful  big  !  Run  and  see  !" 

And  he  laughed  merrily  as  Bessie 
opened  the  door,  and  the  stranger  en- 
tered the  kitchen,  while  Davy  rushed 
frantically  out  to  welcome  St.  Nich- 
olas. 

A  large,  portly  man,  in  a  wolf-skin 
overcoat  and  fur  hat,  was  stamping 
the  snow  from  his  feet,  as  Davy  walk- 
ed up  to  him  and,  looking  earnestly 
into  his  face,  said,  "  Be  you  St.  Nick- 
las?" 

"  Me,  St.  Nicholas  !  Well,  no,  son- 
ny, I  guess  not;  but"  —  seeing  the 
disappointed  look  stealing  over  the 
little  face  —  "you  see  the  ol'  fellow 
couldn't  get  here,  'count  o'  the  drifts, 
an'  so  Jcome." 

"  Oh,  goody,  goody  !  Hollo  !  Jamie, 
he's  come.  'Tain't  him,  but  he  says 
he  sent  him.  Oh,  mother,  ain't  you 
jest  as  glad  as  you  can  be  ?  I'll  bet 
he's  got  a  letter  or  suthm'  for  you 
too,  cause  that's  what  you  want ;  an' 
you're  awful  good,  ain't  you,  mother  ? 
An'  suthin'  for  Bessie,  too !" 

"Davy,  Davy,  don't  go  wild,  my 
son." 

And  Mrs.  Morgan  came  from  the 
inner  room  to  greet  the  visitor. 

"How-de-do,  how-de-do,  Mrs.  Mor- 
gan? An'  how's  your  family?  All 
well,  I  trust.  You  do  not  recognize 
me,  eh?  I'm  called  Noyes  —  Squire 
Noyes.  Most  everybody  knows  me 
hereabouts.  But  I  never  had  the 
opportunity  of  visiting  your  domicile 
before — that  is,  since  your  occupation 
and  transformation  of  it — until  this 
inclement  evening.  Exceedingly  in- 
clement, truly  !  The  snow  is  nigh 


44 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


unto  five  foot  deep,  and  my  beast  of 
burden  stands  shivering  without.  Is 
your  man  about?  Ah!  how -de -do, 
how -de -do,  Mr.  Morgan?  I  trust  I 
see  you  well !" 

"Very  well,  sir;  very  well,"  re- 
sponded that  gentleman,  shaking 
hands  cordially  with  the  stranger. 
"Take  off  your  coat  and  sit  down 
to  supper  with  us.  The  men  have 
put  your  horse  in  the  stable,  and  you 
can't  get  any  farther  to-night." 

An  hour  later  they  sat  around  the 
blazing  wood  fire,  Squire  Noyes  the 
centre  of  the  group,  with  a  boy  on 
either  knee. 

"Do  you  live  with  old  St.  Nick?" 
Davy  was  inquiring. 

"  Well,  no,  sonny ;  I  don't  know  as  I 
do  live  nigh  neighbor  to  him.  What 
made  you  think  I  was  him  ?" 

"  Why,  you  look  jest  'zactly  like 
him ;  don't  he,  Jamie  ? 

"  '  He  was  all  dressed  in  fur ;  an*  his  eyes  how 
they  twinkled ! 

An'  his  droll  little  month  was  drawn  up  like 
n  bow ; 

While  the  beard  on  his  chin  was  as  white 
as  the  snow ; 

An1  he  shook  when  he  laughed  like  a  bowl- 
ful of jelly  !"> 

he  added,  triumphantly,  as  one  by  one 
these  points  of  resemblance  recurred 
to  his  mind,  while  the  squire  was 
obliged  to  put  both  the  boys  off  his 
lap  as  he  united  in  the  roar  of  laugh- 
ter which  followed  Davy's  apt  de- 
scription. 

"  Well,  well,  well !"  he  exclaimed, 
wiping  his  face  with  a  red  bandanna, 
"  I'm  glad  I  look  so  much  like  a  saint ; 
maybe  I'm  his  brother.  Anyhow 
you  just  hang  up  your  stockings  as 


you  did  to  your  grandpa's.  Ef  the 
ol'  fellow  kin  get  here,  he'll  come. 
An'  you  get  your  ma  to  hang  up 
hern,  just  for  the  fun  of  it ;  and  Mis' 
Morris  too.  OP  Kriss  Kringle  (that's 
what  they  called  him  when  I  was  a 
boy),  he  likes  grown-up  folks  too." 

"An'  little  sister's  stocking,  too," 
said  Davy. 

"  Certainly ;  though  I  apprehend 
her  wants  are  all  supplied." 

"Do  you  know  what  he's  going  to 
bring  us  ?  Bill  bet  he'd  bring  us 
hand  sleds." 

"Quite  possibly  he  may.  I  flatter 
myself  that  I  have  an  idea.  You  see 
'twan't  more  'n  a  fortnight  ago,  I  see 
the  clouds  one  evening  as  red  as 
them  coals  of  fire ;  an'  I  have  been 
assured  that  when  the  sky  looks  like 
that  ol'  St.  Nick  is  baking  his  cake 
for  Christmas.  An'  likelier  'n  not 
he'd  be  making  'lasses  candy  at  the 
same  time.  But  now,  I  tell  you,  he'll 
never  come  while  we  sit  here  and 
have  such  a  blazing  hot  fire.  We've 
all  got  to  go  to  bed,  an'  the  fire  must 
go  out,  an'  everybody  go  to  sleep,  and 
then  I  apprehend  he'll  put  in  an  ap- 
pearance. But  should  any  individual 
try  to  get  a  squint  at  him,  he'll  get 
nothing  but  a  gad,  or  a  snowball  in 
his  stocking.  Now  you  go  an'  get 
your  ma's,  and  the  baby's,  an'  Mis' 
Morris's,  an'  I'll  hang  'em  up  with 
your'n  right  here  'front  of  the  fire- 
place." 

Mrs.  Morgan  was  putting  little 
Miriam  into  her  cradle,  and  Bessio 
making  preparations  for  the  morning 
meal.  Davy's  movements  were  un- 
noticed ;  and  the  stocking  basket  was 
brought  to  the  fireside.  ' 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


45 


Hammer  and  nails  were  found  by 
Jamie;  and  in  a  moment  the  men 
were  laughing,  and  the  women  aston- 
ished at  the  sight  of  a  long  white 
stocking  flanked  by  a  gray  one,  a  tiny 
red  sock,  and  two  blue  ones,  all  sus- 
pended from  the  mantle. 

The  gray  dawn  was  drifting 
through  the  windows,  when  two  little 
figures  crept  quietly  from  their  trun- 
dle-bed and  stole  into  the  kitchen. 

Morris  had  been  there  before  them ; 
and  a  fire  crackled  in  the  cook-stove 
at  one  end  of  the  room,  and  roared 
and  sparkled  in  the  fireplace  at  the 
other,  lighting  up  the  row  of  stock- 
ings and  the  words  MERRY  CHRISTMAS 
in  evergreen  letters  on  the  white  wall 
above  them.  Over  the  doors  were 
rustic  arches  of  mingled  hemlock  and 
laurel,  and  each  white  curtain  was 
festooned  with  evergreens  and  scarlet 
berries. 

But  the  boys  saw  only  the  five 
stockings,  stuffed  to  the  toes  with  St. 
Nicholas's  gifts,  and  beside  the  fire- 
place two  tiny  red  sleighs. 

For  a  second  they  stood  in  mute  as- 
tonishment ;  then,  with  shouts  of  de- 
light, they  seized  the  ropes  of  their 
designated  sleighs,  and  commenced 
drawing  them  across  the  floor. 

"But  the  stockings!"  shouted 
Davy.  "I  want  mine  right  away, 
quick !" 

Morris,  entering,  placed  the  treas- 
ures in  their  upraised  hands.  Their 
loudly  expressed  joy  soon  aroused  the 
household.  A  big  red  apple;  a 
doughnut,  resembling  either  a  man,  a 
monkey,  or  a  bear  in  shape ;  a  primer ; 
a  fish-line,  and  a  pair  of  little  red  mit- 
tens were  in  each  stocking. 


A  doll,  with  cloth  head,  adorned 
with  ravelled  yarn  for  hair,  a  thin 
skin  of  cambric  over  the  pink  muslin 
cheeks  and  lips,  and  inked  eyebrows 
arching  over  the  bead  eyes,  leaned  out 
of  Baby's  stocking  as  though  medi- 
tating a  leap  to  the  hearth. 

The  long  gray-and-white  hose  hung 
undisturbed  until  Mrs.  Morgan,  and 
Bessie,  more  surprised  than  the  boys 
at  St.  Nicholas's  remembrance,  sat 
down  by  the  fireside  to  examine  their 
contents.  Gingham  for  aprons  was 
first  pulled  out;  then  gloves,  apples, 
and  a  handful  of  nuts ;  but  something 
flat  and  thin  remained  in  the  foot  of 
each  stocking. 

"My  certie!"  cried  Bessie,  "but 
auld  St.  Nick  is  na  coif !  'Tis  a  letter 
I  have,  an'  frae  me  ain  mither,  I  ken 
weel.  What  hae  ye,  missis  ?" 

"A  letter  too,  from  my  brother.  I 
never  knew  St.  Nicholas  to  be  a  mail- 
carrier;"  and  Mrs.  Morgan  looked 
smilingly  at  Mr.  Noyes.  "  But  he 
could  not  have  brought  me  a  more  ac- 
ceptable gift." 

"  Weel,  weel,  we  hae  muckle  daffin' ! 
The  letters  maun  bide  till  bra'kfas's 
weel  awa';"  and  Bessie  slipped  the 
treasure  into  her  bosom,  and  hastened 
to  put  the  griddle  over  the  fire,  turn 
the  slices  of  frying  ham,  drain  the 
boiling  water  from  the  potatoes,  and 
set  the  coffee-pot  upon  the  hearth,  be- 
fore setting  the  table  for  the  morning 
meal. 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Morgan  was  hasti- 
ly scanning  the  pages  of  St.  Nicholas's 
best  gift,  assisting  the  children  in 
dressing,  and  admiring  their  Christ- 
mas presents. 

"Now,  mother,"   said  Davy,  skip- 


40 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


ping  across  the  floor  with  his  sled  at 
his  heels,  "I  kin  take  you  ridiu'  down- 
hill. You  set  behind  an'  jest  hang  on, 
an'  I'll  steer !  Is  that  a  real  sure  'nuff 
letter  from  Uncle  Dave  ?  What  does 
it  say?  Noffin'  't  all  'bout  me?  Oh, 
goody,  goody  !  breakfus'  is  reddy,  an' 
I'm  hungrier  'n  a  bear!  "Well,  I'm 
mos1  hungrier,  mother." 

The  morning  meal  was  over;  the 
men  gone  to  their  labors  at  mill  and 
barn ;  the  boys  started  up  the  hillside 
to  find  a  clear  place  for  coasting,  when 
the  treasured  letters  were  again 
opened,  and  each  sentence  carefully 
and  thoughtfully  read. 

"My  brother  has  a  plan  that  I  hope 
you  will  like  as  well  as  I  do,  Bessie. 
He  wants  us  to  come  down  the  river 
on  a  raft,  next  spring.  Here  is  what 
he  says :  '  With  a  cabin  built  on  the 
raft  for  a  shelter  from  the  winds  and 
possible  rains,  plenty  of  straw  and 
blankets,  you  could  keep  yourself  and 
baby  comfortable,  even  if  the  weath- 
er should  be  chilly.  The  scenery 
must  be  grand  through  the  mountains 
of  the  Upper  Delaware ;  and  below 
the  Water  Gap  it  is  indeed  lovely. 
Just  fancy  the  country  clothed  in 
spring's  fair  verdure ;  the  mossy 
rocks ;  the  mist-like  pink  of  budding 
foliage ;  the  thick  masses  of  ever- 
green, changing  as  you  glide  along 
to  the  blossoming  orchards  and  ver- 
dant fields.  Wreaths  of  radishes, 
bouquets  of  asparagus,  garlands  of 
garlic,  shall  greet  you  !  Banquets  of 
spring  chickens  and  green  pease  will 
await  you.  Cabbages  and  catfish 
shall  lie  at  your  feet.  The  city  shall 
be  in  readiness  to  receive  you,  with 
door-steps  newly  cleaned.  Let  noth- 


ing   but    ill  -  health    or    unfavorable 
weather  prevent  your  coming.' " 

"Eh,  mem,  the  thocht  o'  gain'  to 
the  auld  hame  niakes  me  hert  loop  i' 
me  briest!  Ah,  I'll  bide  weel  con- 
tent ef  we  can  gang  awa'  i'  the 
spring.  Hoots,  but  I  darna  lippen 
too 't !  Not  that  I'm  at  a'  mceserable, 
mem,  but  the  wark's  some  wersh  like, 
an'  we're  baith  fashin'  fur  a  change. 
Yer  brother's  o'erfond  o'  damn';  he's 
sae  merry  -  hearted.  Wad  ye  like  a 
bit  o'  my  letter  noo?  Ye  see,  mem, 
I  tellt  her  o'  th'  fine  blackberries  on 
th'  brambles,  an'  the  big  gran'  wuds, 
wheer  there's  na  eend  o'  bonny  blos- 
soms a'  sae  fair  an'  fragrant;  an'  noo 
she  tells  me  o'  the  fruits  on  the  fairm 
at  hame:  'We  hae  gathered  thirty 
bushels  o'  pears,  as  big  as  yer  t\va 
neeves' — that's  two  fists,  mem — '  out'n 
the  arichard  yer  daddy  bought  sin' 
ye  been  awa'.  Ye  never  saw  sic  big 
anes  in  a'  yer  life;  an'  peaches  grow 
jist  like  apple-trees  in  th'  Auld  Coun- 
try. Naebtfdy  has  th'  brick  wa's  to 
fas'en  th'  trees  tae  here.  We  hae 
muckle  o'  grapes ;  but  ye  were  made 
acquaint  wi'  them,  an'  diuna  like  them 
sac  wecl,  I  ken,  as  th'  gossarts  up  at 
th" Ha' i'th' auld  hame.'" 
"  What  are  gossarts,  Bessie  ?" 
"  Gooseberries  ye  ca'  them ;  but 
they're  nane  sae  sweet  as  th'  ancs  the 
auld  gardncr  wad  be  givin'  me  frae 
the  squire's  garden  i'  Scotland.  Ah, 
hoo  I  wad  like  to  sind  an  air  o'  corn 
to  auld  Sandy !  I  canna  mak'  him 
unnerstan'  hoo  th'  grain  grows  on  a 
cob,  a'  set  i'  rows,  jist  like  pearly  teeth, 
frae  anc  eend  to  t'ither;  nor  hoo  it's 
wrapped  round  aboot  wi'  th'  bonny 
thrieds  like  soft  spun  silk,  an'  th'  braw 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


47 


green  leaves  ane  above  anither.  He 
jist  minds  him  o'  aits  an'  siclike 
grains,  an'  winna  b'leve  corn  grows 
higher  'an  his  heid  wi'  a  stalk  like 
his  airm.  He'll  ne'er  unnerstan'  'less 
he  comes  aw  a'  t'  see." 

"Mistress  Morgan  and  Bessie,  do 
come  out  and  ride  downhill  with  us ! 
It's  perfectly  glorious  out-of-doors, 
and  coasting  is  the  jolliest  kind  of 
fun.  Do  come,  won't  you  ?  We  have 
the  boys'  sleds  and  a  deerskin,  and 
the  crust  will  bear  a  horse's  weight." 

Fred's  voice  reached  them  before 
his  face,  flushed  with  exercise  and 
radiant  with  mirth,  appeared  in  the 
door-way. 

"Do  bundle  up  the  baby  and  let 
me  take  her.  You  want  to  come, 
don't  you,  Mira  ?" 

The  little  girl  smiled,  and  cooed  as- 
sent. 

"Why, Fred!  you  dear  crazy  boy! 
to  think  of  taking  an  old  woman  and 
her  baby  out  riding  downhill.  We 
will  look  out  of  the  window  and  see 
you.  But  Bessie  is  young;  she  can 
go." 

"  'Course  she  can,"  said  Morris,  also 
entering;  "I  ain't  goin'  to  draw  lum- 
ber on  a  Christmas-day.  I'm  going 
to  take  you  to  a  frolic  over  the  river 
to-night,  Bessie,  ef  ye'll  go;  an'  I 
may  as  well  put  in  the  hull  day.  So 
you  jest  get  on  your  fixin's,  an'  we'll 
have  a  ride  fust.  Bundle  up  your 
ears,  for  Jack  Frost  is  waitin'  to  give 
'em  a  nip.  We'll  cum  down  that  hill 
like  a  streak  o'  greased  lightenin'." 

"My  certie,  Willy,"  exclaimed  his 
wife,  "  wad  ye  mak'  yersel  a  gay 
young  spark  agen  by  crackin'  me  pow 
acren  a  rock?  Ye  better  'ware  th' 


wuddie  ere  ye  do  sic  a  thing  as  that," 
Bessie  answered,  her  laughing  eyes 
contradicting  her  pretended  alarm. 

"  Never  ye  fear  my  breakin'  yer 
head ;  ef  I'm  ever  hung  on  the  wud- 
die,  'twill  be  fur  crackin'  the  pow  o' 
some  fellow  that's  winked  at  you." 

"  Wad  ye  let  me  stay  wi'  th'  wean, 
mem,  an'  let  ye  come  oot  ?"  said  Bes- 
sie, looking  at  her  husband  for  ap- 
proval for  her  sacrifice  of  the  sport ; 
"  or  wad  ye  hae  yer  ride  efterhin  ? — 
Aiblins  yer  frightit  at  th'  wee  sled- 
dy?" 

"  I  am  a  little  afraid  of  tumbling 
off,  and  very  much  afraid  of  spinning 
downward  through  the  air.  But  you 
will  like  it,  so  go  on." 

Placing  the  baby  in  the  cradle, 
Mrs.  Morgan  wrapped  a  shawl  about 
her,  and  followed  the  coasting  party 
out  into  the  sunshine.  From  the  up- 
permost trees  on  the  furthermost  hills 
to  the  door-stone  at  her  feet  spread 
the  glittering  snow,  broken  only  by 
icicled  rocks  and  frosted  trees ;  a  daz- 
zling scene,  from  which  the  eye  turn- 
ed to  watch  the  figures  climbing  the 
neai*est  hillside :  Jamie  and  Davy  in 
advance,  Bessie's  tartan  plaid  and 
Fred's  gay  scarf  contrasting  brightly 
with  the  blackness  of  rocks,  and  ever- 
greens, and  the  whiteness  of  the  snow. 

Up,  up  the  steep  path  they  climbed 
(made  straight  and  smooth  for  roll- 
ing logs)  until  they  reached  a  rock 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  above  the  road. 
Then  they  paused,  Fred  seating  him- 
self upon  Davy's  sleigh,  the  owner 
crouching  between  his  knees.  A  mo- 
ment's pause — 

"All  ready  ?   Hold  on  tight,  Davy !" 

And    downward    they    flew,    past 


48 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


rocks,  trees,  bushes,  stumps  —  faster, 
faster — the  air  rushed  against  them, 
bearing  away  breath,  sight,  feeling, 
and  leaving  a  bewildering  whirl !  A 
stop,  and  Davy  saw  the  barn -yard 
gate  and  the  cattle  and  chickens 
around  him. 

"Get  up,  Davy,  and  see  Big  Bill 
come  down.  That  deerskin  will  be 
no  easy  thing  to  steer.  Now  they're 
off.  Whew,  how  they  fly!  They'll 
hit  that  stump  —  no,  they  don't ! 
They've  run  into  that  bush ;  I  knew 
they  would.  On  they  come  !  Bessie 
has  lost  her  hood.  Hear  her  laugh ! 
Here  they  are !  My  gracious,  Bill, 
that's  what  I  call  fast  flying !  How 
do  you  like  it,  Bessie  ?" 

"My  certie  !"  she  exclaimed,  catch- 
ing her  breath.  "  O-oh  it's  fine  !  Les' 
try  it  agen,  Willy ;  an'  go  na  farther 
than  th'  oonmainnerly  bramble  that 
sto'  me  snood." 

"All  right,  I'm  ready  for  another; 
an'  I'll  try  an'  keep  clear  o'  the  bush. 
I'll  bet  that  buckskin  never  went  so 
fast  afore,  not  when  the  hounds  wus 
after  it.  Davy,  your  ma  is  waitin' 
thar  by  the  door  fur  you  to  tell  her 
how  ye  like  ridin'  downhill." 

"Fred,  you  better  bring  Jamie 
do\vn  nex'  time.  I  guess  he's  kindy 
'fraid  to  venture  all  alone." 

True :  Jamie  was  seated  on  his  sled, 
with  heels  braced  firmly  in  the  snow, 
dreading  the  laughter  of  those  who 
had  dared  the  danger,  yet  dreading 
the  danger  more. 

"Oh,  pshaw!  what's  he  afraid  of? 
We  came  down  safely.  Come  on,  Ja- 
mie !"  yelled  Fred. 

"  Stay  there,  Jamie  !"  shouted  Bill. 
"I'll  come  an'  fetch  ye!  He  don't 


know  nothin'  'bout  steerin'  a  sled. 
Likelier  'n  not  he'd  upset  an'  skin  his 
nose,  ef  nothin'  wus." 

Again  they  climbed  the  steep  hill- 
side, until  they  reached  the  clump  of 
briers  and  laurels,  where  Bessie's  hood 
yet  swung  in  the  wind. 

"I'll  bring  Jamie  down,  Bill,"  said 
Fred.  "  You  needn't  go  any  farther." 

"All  right:  we'll  wait  till  you  go 
by.  I  hain't  no  notion  o'  bein'  run 
into  by  your  sled ;  and  this  plaguy 
skin  is  ez  likely  to  swing  round  and 
slide  sideways  ez  to  go  ahead." 

As  they  stepped  from  the  "run- 
way" upon  a  moss -covered  rock,  a 
white  rabbit  bounded  awajr,  a  flock 
of  snow-birds  fluttered  to  the  tree-tops, 
twittering  a  moment,  then  settling 
down  again  upon  the  spot  of  bare 
earth  the  overhanging  rock  had  shel- 
tered from  the  snow.  The  crimson 
plumes  of  the  sumac,  the  brown  fo- 
liage of  the  oak,  and  the  scarlet  and 
yellow  berries  of  the  bitter-sweet 
gleamed  among  the  dark-hued  hem- 
locks and  deep-green  laurels,  while  the 
golden  sunlight  filtering  through  the 
forest  gilded  and  illumined  the  scene. 
Far  below  them  lay  the  valley,  clad 
in  glittering  white. 

Before  the  store,  horses  and  sleighs 
were  standing,  their  owners  coming 
out  now  and  then  to  stow  away  their 
purchases  in  the  straw  under  the  seat 
of  the  rude  home-made  vehicles.  At 
the  mill  a  group  of  red-shirted  men 
were  rolling  logs  and  piling  scantling; 
while  the  ring  of  the  file  upon  the 
steel, as  the  sawyer  sharpened  his  saw, 
sounded  clear  as  a  silver  bell.  The 
river  was  a  narrow  field  of  snow, 
hedged  by  steep  banks,  and  broken 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


only  by  holes  some  fishermen  were 
cutting  through  the  ice. 

"There's  the  square  a-settiu'  tip- 
ups;  don't  you  see  him  down  in  the 
eddy  ?  He'll  hev  fish  enough  fur  din- 
ner, I'll  bet." 

"  'Deed  noo,"  exclaimed  Bessie, "  we 
raus'  mak'  haste  a\va',  or  tho  partridges 
weel  be  ill  dune  for  deener.  Haud 
awa'  wid  ye,  Mister  Fred,  an'  ne'er 
stari'  starin'  theer  like  an  unco  gawk ! 
Faith,  though,  I  could  bide  i'  these 
bonny  green  wuds  a'  th'  day.  See 
the  winsome  birdie,  Willy !  ane  wi' 
a  scarlet  coif  an'  t'ither  \vi'  bonny 
blue  kilt  an'  brown  breeks.  Coom 
awa,'  lads,  or  ye'll  get  na  deener  this 
day !" 

"  Here  we  go !"  shouted  Jamie ;  and 
instantly  they  darted  past  and  flew 
clown  the  hill.  The  deerskin  was  ad- 
justed on  the  glittering  snow,  Morris 
holding  the  bushes,  while  Bessie  seat- 
ed herself  behind  him,  her  skirts  tuck- 
ed closely  about  her,  and  her  arms 
clasping  her  husband's  waist. 

"All  ready  now?    Whew!" 

A  long  gasp ;  a  mad  rush  of  bushes 
and  trees  up  the  hillside ;  a  grating  of 
the  steersman's  heels  in  the  icy 'crust; 
a  swift  whirl  as  the  smooth  skin  swung 
to  the  right;  a  backward  slide;  and 
they  stopped  beside  the  garden  wall. 

"How  do  you  like  coasting,  Bes- 
sie ?"  Mrs.  Morgan  asked,  as  she  was 
removing  her  wrappings. 

"  Hoots,  mem,  it's  jist  gran' ! 
Theer's  nair  birr  to  't  an'  slidin' 
(though  it's  mony  a  clyte  I've  had  in 
slidin'),  but  it  takes  ane's  brith  awa'. 
Dinna  speer  me  'bout  it;  jist  hae  a 
try  at  it  yer  am  sel." 

But  the  sun's  rays  soon  softened 
4 


the  snow,  and  riding  on  the  crust  was 
abandoned. 

The  Christmas  dinner  Avas  prepared. 
Roasted  partridges  and  pigeon  -  pie 
were  flanked  by  pyramids  of  mashed 
potatoes  and  hulled  corn,  yellow  tur- 
nips, and  crimson  beets.  A  blackber- 
ry pudding  and  pumpkin  -  pie,  with 
cranberry  jelly  and  golden  cheese, 
furnished  the  dessert. 

"Mother,"  called  Davy,  pausing 
with  a  wedge  of  his  favorite  "  bren'- 
butter  "  at  his  lips — "  mother,  this  is 
Jesus'  birthday,  ain't  it  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  son." 

"I  s'pose  he's  real  glad  we're  hav- 
in'  such  a  nice  time  down  here.  Ef 
he  wus  here  now — and  wa'n't  grow'd 
up,  you  know  —  I'd  let  him  ride  on 
my  new  sled  jes'  as  long  's  he'd  a 
min'  to." 

The  mother- heart  understood  the 
self-abnegation  of  the  boyish  impulse, 
and  her  face  smiled  approval  before 
the  father's  voice  uttered  its  harsh  re- 
buke. 

"David,  never  let  me  hear  you 
speak  of  the  Omnipotent  King  of 
Heaven  in  that  manner  again.  Do 
you  know  he  is  able  to  destroy 
you  this  instant  for  such  irreverent 
thoughts?  It  is  plain  enough  where 
you  get  such  ideas ;  but  I  call  them 
downright  blasphemy." 

"I  know,  John" — and  Mary  Mor- 
gan's face  flushed,  and  her  voice  fal- 
tered— "  I  know  you  and  I  do  not  feel 
quite  the  same  on  this  subject ;  but  it 
seems  to  me  Jesus  was  a  boy,  and  a 
man,  just  to  give  us  a  pattern  to  live 
by ;  and  if  he  had  been  born  ten 
years  ago  instead  of  eighteen  hun- 
dred, and  here  instead  of  Bethlehem, 


50 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


he  would  have  shared  Davy's  sled 
with  pleasure." 

"  Well,  well,  I  don't  see  where  you 
have  any  authority  in  the  Holy 
Scriptures  for  such  irreverent  ideas ; 
and  for  my  part,  I  want  my  boys  to 
be  brought  up  to  regard  the  name  of 
their  Redeemer  as  something  too  sa- 
cred to  be  talked  of  with  levity ;  and 
I  don't  want  to  hear  any  more  of  it ! 
— Let  me  help  you  to  some  more  par- 
tridge, squire;  and  take  another  cup 
of  coffee." 

The  clatter  of  knives  and  forks 
went  on,  but  the  frown  on  her  hus- 
band's brow  and  the  mist  gathering 
in  Davy's  eyes  clouded  the  sunshine 
in  Mary  Morgan's  heart,  and  the  old 
pained,  perplexed  look  came  to  her 
face. 

"Can  you  go  and  play  with  little 
sister,  Davy  ?  I  hear  her  waking : 
your  pudding  shall  be  saved  for  you." 

The  little  fellow  choked  down  the 


sobs,  and  ran  hurriedly  into  the  next 
room,  where  his  voice  was  soon  heard 
mimicking  the  baby's  crows  of  de- 
light, and  singing  one  of  Bessie's  fa- 
vorite cradle  songs  : 

"Creep  awa',  my  bairnie,  ye're  ower  young  to 

learn 

To  tot  up  an'  down  yet,  my  bonny  wee  bairn ; 
Better  creepin'  cannie  than  fa'in'  wi'  a  bang, 
Dunlin  a  your  wee  brow — creep  afore  ye  gang. 

"  Ye'll  creep,  an'  ye'll  hotch,  an'  ye'll  nod  to  yer 

mither, 

Watchin'  ilka  step  o'  your  wee  donsy  brither ; 
Sest  ye  on  the  floor  till  your  wee  limbs  grow 

strung, 
An'  ye'll  be  a  braw  cheil  yet — creep  afore  ye 

gang. 

"The  wee  birdie  fa's  when  it  tries  ower  soon  to 

flee, 
Folks  are  sure  to  tumble  when  they  climb  ower 

hie; 
They  wha  canna  walk  right  are  sure  to  come 

to  wrang : 
Sae  creep  awa',  my  bairnie  —  creep  afore  ye 

gang." 


iM-fi 

p* 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


'  Three-storied  larnin's  pop'lar  now  :  I  guess 
We  thriv'  es  wal  on  jest  two  stories  less  ; 
Fnr  it  strikes  me  ther's  such  a  thing  as  sinnin' 
By  overloading  children's  underpinnin'. 
Wal;  here  it  wus  I  learned  my  ABC, 
An'  it's  a  kind  o'  favorite  spot  to  me." 


BABE  MIRIAM  increased  in  size  and 
beauty  daily.  Shy,  sensitive,  she 
clung  to  her  mother  and  Bessie  with 
unvarying  affection,  received  the  ca- 
resses of  her  brothers  with  evident  de- 
light, and  the  admiration  of  the  work- 
men with  timid  pleasure;  yet  the 
child  shrunk  from  every  attention  of 
her  father  with  apparent  terror. 

In  vain  did  Mrs.  Morgan  strive  to 
overcome  without  directly  referring  to 
this  strange  repugnance,  grieving  se- 
cretly with  bitter  self-reproach  at  her 
own  unconquered  weakness  of  months 
before,  which  now  threatened  to  mar 
their  daughter's  inheritance  of  happi- 
ness. For  the  father,  quick  to  per- 
ceive the  babe's  shrinking  from  his 
slightest  touch,  resented  the  aversion, 
and  grew  apparently  indifferent  to 
her,  not  unfrequently  complaining 
that  the  baby  occupied  more  time  and 
attention  than  necessary,  and  was  an- 
noyed by  its  mother's  and  brother's 
loving  words  and  tender  caresses. 

Nothing  delighted  Bessie  more 
than  to  take  the  little  <rirl  in  her  arms 


HOSEA   BlGLOW. 

and  sing  to  her  the  ballads  of  Bonny 
Scotland. 

A  weird,  sweet  melody  would  make 
the  little  lips  quiver  and  brown  eyes 
fill  with  tears ;  if  quickly  changed,  the 
face  was  as  suddenly  irradiated  with 
smiles;  if  continued,  the  tears  would 
leap  out  over  the  dimpled  cheeks,  and 
the  little  form  be  convulsed  with 
grief.  Nothing  but  a  gentle  lullaby 
would  then  quiet  the  sensitive  child, 
who  never  cried  loudly,  but  passion- 
ately as  a  woman. 

To  the  mother  the  babe  was  more 
than  pet,  plaything,  and  employment. 
Day  by  day  she  grew  to  be  the  confi- 
dante of  all  her  cares.  A  feeling  of 
reverence  mingled  with  her  love,  as 
the  dark  steadfast  eyes  looked  ear- 
nestly into  her  own,  as  if  with  subtle 
instinct  they  gazed  into  her  inmost 
soul,  recognizing  each  aspiration,  com- 
prehending every  limitation,  with  calm 
trust  foreseeing,  and  with  loving  loy- 
alty defying  all. 

Hours  of  silent,  blissful  communion 
were  these,  when  the  infant  head  rest- 


52 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


ed  upon  the  mother-heart,  and  fancies 
came  thronging  to  her  mind  demand- 
ing utterance. 

After  such  an  hour  she  wrote  these 

lines: 

TO  THE  BABY. 

Your  eyes  have  opened  on  a  world 
Of  gladness  and  of  sorrow ; 
But  naught  you  fear, 

0  baby  dear! 

The  shadows  of  to-morrow. 

Your  mother's  face,  the  moving  forms, 
Your  little  clumsy  fingers, 
All  make  surprise : 
In  your  bright  eyes 
A  thought  half  wakened  lingers. 

Or  are  they  only  germs  of  thought 
Your  mind  is  just  receiving? 

Your  face  reveals — 

And  yet  conceals — 
A  wonder  and  a  grieving. 

I  half  believe,  my  little  girl, 
'Tis  not  the  things  around  you 

That  make  your  eyes 

So  wondrous  wise, 
But  mem'ries  that  surround  you. 

Say,  are  they  mem'ries,  little  one, 
That  fill  your  eyes  with  wonder? 

Some  that  are  glad, 

And  some  so  sad  ? 
Eyes  smile  with  tear-drops  under. 

I  wish  your  lips  could  form  the  thoughts 
Your  eyes  are  half  expressing. 

Have  you  a  Past  ? 

Boundless  and  vast, 
Of  peace,  and  joy,  and  blessing  ? 

Are  visions  of  a  life  that's  gone 
Over  your  senses  stealing  ? 

And  do  you  grieve 

For  what  you  leave  ? 
What  will  dispel  the  feeling  ? 

Maybe  you  know  the  spirit  tongue ! 
Are  voices  now  addressing 
Some  words  of  cheer 

1  cannot  hear? 

I'm  weary  of  my  guessing. 


I  only  know,  my  precious  child, 
This  life  is  just  beginning, 

With  loss  and  gain, 

With  peace  and  pain, 
With  pardon  for  the  sinning. 

Weakness  to  conquer,  doubts  to  crush, 
While  daily  strength  attaining; 

With  light  we're  led, 

With  manna  fed 
Till  heavenly  stature  gaining. 

And  if  we  consecrate  each  day 
As  holiest  of  the  seven, 
Christ's  will  is  done, 
His  kingdom  come ; 
And  earth  is  fair  as  heaven ! 

Then  do  not  falter,  0  my  own ! 
Or  grieve  at  coming  sorrow. 

Your  Yesterday 

Is  in  To-day, 
And  all  joy  in  To-morrow. 

'The  wintry  days  grew  shorter  and 
colder.  March  came  and  passed 
away,  but  brought  no  sign  of  spring. 
A  sudden  storm  raised  the  river,  and 
at  midnight  a  roaring  and  crashing 
was  heard,  and  a  voice  shouted, 

"  The  ice  's  gc4n'  out !" 

The  men  hurried  to  the  river-bank 
and  mill.  The  lanterns  went  flash- 
ing and  glimmering  in  the  darkness; 
voices  rung  out  above  the  noise  of 
pelting  rain  and  howling  wind ;  then, 
one  by  one,  the  men  came  back  to  the 
house,  announcing  the  danger  past, 
the  lumber  safe.  When  morning  caine 
the  storm  was  over  and  the  ice  gone. 

Preparations  for  rafting  began,  al- 
though the  snow  lay  thick  upon  the 
ground,  and  the  weather  freezing  cold. 
Each  sunlit  day  was  followed  by  one 
of  storm,  and  the  hope  of  a  pleasant 
journey  on  a  raft  grew  daily  fainter. 
.  "Ah  me!"  Bessie  cried,  as  the  sec- 
ond week  in  April  brought  a  snow- 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


fall  that  again  whitened  the  hills, 
"  will  the  gloomy  winter  ne'er  gang 
awa'  ?  I  mind  me  faithev's  tellin'  the 
bairns 

"  '  IIoo  Mairch  borrowed  from  Aprill 
Three  days :  an'  they  were  ill. 
The  fairst  day  was  snaw  an'  sleet, 
The  second  day  was  wind  an'  weet ; 
The  third  day  there  cam'  a  sair  freeze, 
An'  froze  a'  the  bonny  buird's  'nabs  t'  th' 
trees.' 

An'  I'm  thinking  Mairch  has  paid  'em 
back  wi'  a  score  mair  o'  the  same 
sort." 

"Giving  more  than  compound  in- 
terest, you  think,"  replied  Mrs.  Mor- 
gan, glad  to  divert  Bessie's  thoughts 
from  a  contemplation  of  the  dreary 
scene  outside.  "  When  was  that  bar- 
gain made?" 

"Ah,  'tis  lang  sin'  syne.  'Twas  a 
fierce  battle  'tween  th'  Scots  an'  the 
Romans;  and  their  gods  would  hae 
it  ended  ere  the  year  was  dune;  'twas 
when  the  new  year  cam'  i'  Mairch, 
ye  ken.  Weel,  they  foucht  on,  an' 
whiles  th'  las'  day  was  near  dune, 
an'  the  Romans  were  winnin';  then 
the  Scots  cried  out  for  more  time,  an' 
the  gods  lat  them  hae  three  mail- 
days — borrowed  from  the  nex'  year, 
ye  ken  —  but  tak'  a'  th'  fairness  out 
o'  ilka  ane  o'  them  so  's  to  be  mair 
creedit  to  'em  suld  they  win." 

"And  did  they  win?" 

"  Oh  ay,  mem !  'Twas  a  great  vic- 
tory, spite  o'  weet  an'  cauld ;  an'  th' 
three  days  hae  jes'  keepit  th'  ill 
weather  e'er  sin'.  Mayhap  the  mor- 
row may  be  fair." 

And  she  looked  out  upon  the  gray 
sky  faintly  tinged  with  the  sunset's 
yellow  hues. 


But  the  morrow  brought  a  cold  east 
wind.  The  river  was  low  enough  for 
the  rafts  to  start;  and  one  by  one 
they  were  completed,  pulled  out  into 
the  channel,  and  carried  away  by  the 
rapid  current. 

"  Hoots,  mem  !"  exclaimed  Bessie, 
dashing  the  tears  of  disappointment 
from  her  eyes, "  we  ha'  na  time  to  be 
douce  an'  dourie  wi'  th'  gardenin'  an' 
house-cleanin'.  Willy  was  awa'  'fore 
milkin',  an'  th'  co's  a'  lowin'  fur  him 
noo;"  arid,  taking  the  milk-pail,  she 
hurried  to  the  barn. 

Before  a  fortnight  had  passed,  the 
men  had  returned,  the  lumber  reach- 
ing market  with  few  accidents. 

The  proceeds  were  largely  invested 
in  dry -goods  and  groceries  for  the 
store;  and  the  teams  were  sent  to 
meet  them  at  the  terminus  of  the  ca- 
nal. The  gardens  and  fields  were 
ploughed  and  planted;  the  berries 
had  not  begun  to  ripen.  Between 
these  busy  seasons  the  children  grew 
clamorous  for  school. 

Books,  slates,  pencils,  and  paper  had 
been  procured ;  and  one  bright  May 
morning  little  Miriam's  cradle  was 
brought  into  the  room,  where  new 
seats  and  desks  had  been  constructed, 
and  the  child's  school  life  began. 

To  the  great  delight  of  the  urchins, 
she  smiled  her  approval  at  all  the  ex- 
ercises, and  expressed  her  interest  by 
clapping  her  dimpled  hands  and  crow- 
ing as  only  a  baby  can.  Bolstered 
by  pillows  in  her  cradle,  or  lying  on 
a  blanket  on  the  floor,  she  amused 
herself  by  watching  the  children,  or 
shaking  a  string  of  spools  and  the 
wooden  rattle  manufactured  for  her 
by  Morris. 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


A  special  reward  of  merit  for  the 
younger  scholars  was  a  seat  beside 
the  baby,  playing  "  Bopeep  "  until  lit- 
tle Miriam  laughed  outright. 

"Altogether  a  model  baby  for  a 
school-room,"  said  Mrs.  Morgan  to 
Mrs.  Rodgers,  when  a  fortnight  of  the 
term  was  ended.  "Jamie  brings  her 
to  Bessie  if  she  frets  ;  but  she  oftener 
falls  asleep  over  her  play,  and  after  a 
long  nap  wakens  with  a  smiling  'a 
goo?  Her  example  is  worth  some- 
thing in  keeping  restless  bodies  quiet. 
But  I  see  I  must  invent  some  stimulus 
to  study;  get  up  some  competition 
for  a  prize,  I  think.  Mrs.  Rodgers, 
can  you  tell  me  how  I  shall  make  the 
scholars  get  their  lessons  ?" 

Mrs.  Rodgers  was  trotting  little 
maid  Miriam  to  "Banbury  Cross" 
to  buy  the  baby  a  plum ;  but  the 
"  white  horse "  suddenly  stopped  as 
she  replied, 

"Make  'era  git  their  lessons  ?  Why, 
I  don't  know  of  nothin'  better  'n  a 
switch,  'nless  it's  a  gad  Land's  sake 
alive!  I  don't  see  how  you've  got 
along  'thout  givin'  some  on  'em  a 
lickin'  'fore  this-  time.  You  know 
how  I  laughed  at  you  las'  year  when 
ye  scd  ye  wa'n't  goin'  to  hev  no  whip- 
pin'  in  your  school ;  an'  I  declar'  for 
it,  I  was  jest  'mazed  to  see  how  ye 
managed  them  thar  young  uns !  An' 
I  sed  to  my  ol'  man,  says  I,  Mis'  Mor- 
gan's allers  preachin'  'bout  rnliu'  by 
love  'stead  o'  fear,  an'  I'm  beat  ef  I 
don't  believe  thar's  suthin'  in  it !  An' 
I  s'pose  it  does  do  better  fur  to  coax 
'an  drive  sometimes,  and  with  some 
young  ones.  Now,  thar's  my  Jack; 
land's  sake  alive  !  the  whippin's  that 
thar  boy's  stood  an'  never  whimper- 


ed, and  never  give  up  nuther!  My 
man  throws  it  in  my  face  yit  that  I 
never  broke  that  boy's  will.  Well,  I 
hope  the  Lord  '11  git  arter  him,  an' 
give  him  no  rest  day  nor  night  till  he 
gives  up  an'  gits  religion.  Seems 
like  he's  kindy  alterd  sence  he's  ben 
agoin'  to  school  to  you.  Not  that 
my  Jack  is  worse  nor  other  boys; 
he's  a  sight  better  'n  many  a  one  'at 
don't  live  a  hundred  miles  from  this 
house!  But,  then,  Jack  is  set  on 
worldly  pleasure;  an'  I'm  powerful 
'fraid — "  And  the  mother  sighed. 

"But  you's  askin'  'bout  some  way 
o'  makin'  the  young  uns  git  their  les- 
sons. Now,  I  never  went  to  school 
only  a  little  spell;  but  I  mind  how 
the  master  use' t'  take  every  one  of  us 
that  didn't  know  our  lessons  perfec', 
an'  stan'  us  all  upon  the  floor,  an'  tie 
us  all  together  in  a  ring  with  a  big 
cord  'round  our  wrists,  an'  then  he'd 
bring  out  his  gads — used  to  keep  a 
dozen  on  'em  seasonin'  agin  the  raft- 
ers— an'  he'd  dr.iw  his  whip  long  his 
han',  kindy  feel  in'  of  it,  an'  a-glarin' 
at  us  (land's  sakes !  how  our  hearts 
'ud  pitty-pat  !),  an'  then  he'd  raise  it 
up  an'  give  it  a. whirl  (tell  you,  we'd 
jump  an'  yell),  an'  down  'twould 
come  on  somebody's  bare  feet  an' 
ankles.  Why,  that  feller  jest  enjoyed 
it !  He  actilly  used  up  more  'n  forty 
whips  on  us  young  uns  ;  an'  he  didn't 
teach  but  three  months  neither.  Tell 
ye !  we  ginnerly  lied  our  spellm' 
when  we  know'd  what  was  a-comin' 
ef  we  didn't !  Though  thar  was  some 
that  got  so  scared  cf  he  jest  looked 
at  'em,  they  didn't  know  nothin',  an' 
they  was  allers  gittin'  licked.  So  I 
s'pose  it  takes  diller'nt  ways  fur  dif- 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


fer'nt  kinds;  an'  I  guess  you're 
'nough  sight  wiser  'n  I  be  'bout  such 
work,  anyhow." 

"  Well,  I  want  these  boys  and  girls 
to  do  right  because  it  is  right,  and  be- 
cause it  is  more  safe  and  more  pleas- 
ant. I  think  that  is  the  way  God 
teaches  us.  He  shows  us  what  is 
wrong,  and  if  we  will  do  it,  the 
wrong  itself  hurts  us ;  but  if  we  do 
right,  the  right  itself  makes  us  hap- 
py. And  I  think  if  the  good  people 
would  always  be  the  most  pleasant 
people,  young  folks  would  try  to  imi- 
tate them ;  and  if  the  right  way  Avas 
made  pleasantest,  the  children  would 
all  try  and  go  that  way ;  so  what  I 
want  is  something  to  coax  them  along 
in  the  right  way.  Bessie,  can't  you 
think  of  something  ?  I  cannot  afford 
gifts,  you  know,  nor  get  medals." 

"  Weel,  I  dinna  ken  what  wad  gie 
the  bairns  here  maist  gude ;  they're 
sae  muckle  sculduddery  !  But  I  mind 
a  custom  in  the  parish  schule  where 
the  maister  hed  a  sou'reign,  an'  a 
crown,  an'  a  shillin',  wi'  holes  i'  them, 
an'  a  ribbon  put  through  ;  an'  th'  lads 
an'  the  lassies  wha  stood  heid  i'  their 
ilka  class  wore  ane  o'  them  hame  th' 
nicht ;  an'  verra  proud  were  we  when 
we  won  the  honor,  tho'  we  parted 
wi'  the  prize  i'  the  mornin'." 

"  Did  they  ever  lose  them  ?" 

"That  ne'er  happened  but  aince. 
A  big  lad  wore  the  son'reign  hame, 
an'  did  na'  fess  it  back  the  morn — 
'twas  los',  he  said.  Weel,  the  maister 
took  a  strip  o'  white  paper,  stiff  like, 
ye  ken,  an'  he  put  on  it  in  sic  big  let- 
ters, 'This  lad  hae  los'  our  sou'reign' 
— an'  pinned  it  on  his  back.  Then  he 
put  a  bit  o'  leather  AVI'  a  cord  'bout 


his  neck,  stead  o'  the  prize  (for  he 
wan  it  agen) ;  an'  'fore  nicht  he  bro't 
the  sou'reign  to  th'  maister's  han' ; 
an'  it  was  ne'er  los'  agen." 

"  I  Avonder  ho\v  that  would  do  here? 
A  dollar  for  the  first  class  Avith  a  blue 
ribbon,  a  half-dollar  for  the  second 
with  green,  and  a  quarter-dollar  Avith 
red  ribbon  for  the  A  B  C  class.  Then 
the  one  Avho  left  off  head  the  most 
times  should  have  the  piece  of  money 
to  keep.  Why,  Bessie,  I  think  that  is 
a  capital  plan !  I  Avill  speak  to  Mr. 
Morgan  about  it  this  very  evening." 

"An'  wha'  for  s'uld  ye  spake  o'  the 
maitter  at  a'  ?  Ye  hae  the  siller,  I 
ken." 

"  Yes,  my  brother  sent  me  a  num- 
ber of  pocket-pieces  with  the  gifts  to 
the  children.  Yet  I  feel  as  though  I 
ought  to  ask  my  husband's  opinion 
about  it." 

The  family  were  gathered  about  the 
hearth-stone  that  evening — for  though 
the  days  Avere  sunny,  the  nights  were 
cool  —  and  a  bright  fire  leaped  and 
sparkled  in  the  fireplace. 

Jamie  and  Davy  were  popping  corn 
in  the  hot  ashes;  Babe  Miriam  glee- 
fully watched  the  sport,  enthroned  in 
her  mother's  arms.  Two  men  were 
engrossed  in  a  game  of  checkers,  with 
chips  and  buttons  for  men.  Bessie 
and  her  husband  sat  together  in  the 
cushioned  settle  in  the  chimney-cor- 
ner, while  Mr.  Morgan,  Avith  account- 
books  before  him  on  the  table,  leaned 
his  head  upon  his  hands,  absorbed  in 
thought. 

Dreams  and  aspirations  of  youth, 
hopes  and  plans  of  manhood,  mingled 
their  contrasting  forms  and  varied 
hues  in  a  kaleidoscopic  vision.  Past 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


and  present  grew  confused.  Where 
were  the  desires  of  earlier  years;  the 
anticipations  of  usefulness,  the  self-ab- 
negation, the  fervor?  "Was  this  back- 
woods life  a  result,  or  a  contradiction? 
Was  money -getting  a  means,  or  an 
end? 

"I  have  some  new  scholars  to-day," 
said  his  wife. 

"Hm-m,"  he  responded,  without 
raising  his  head. 

"Two  English  children,  by  the 
name  of  White :  quite  good  scholars, 
I  think.  Do  you  know  anything 
about  the  family  ?" 

"Just  come.  Live  near  the  grist- 
mill." 

"  Oh,  they  are  new  settlers.  John, 
I  want  to  ask  your  advice  about  a 
plan  for  coaxing  the  children  up  the 
hill  of  knowledge;"  and  Mary  Mor- 
gan turned  toward  the  table  with  an 
expectant  smile. 

Her  husband  gathered  up  his  books. 

"You  must  manage  your  school 
without  any  of  my  help.  I've  got 
enough  on  my  hands  without  being 
bothered  by  that.  Only,  I  want  to 
tell  you,  once  for  all,  I  won't  have  the 
young  ones  hanging  around  the  store  ! 
They  are  a  perfect  torment,  with 
wanting  a  slate-pencil,  or  a  stick  of 
licorice,  or  a  bottle  of  ink,  or  a  few 
peppermints,  a  dozen  times  a  day ! 
and  bringing  pails  and  baskets  for 
things  their  mammies  sent  for.  Then 
when  your  school  is  out,  in  comes  the 
whole  drove ;  and  bags,  and  buckets, 
and  half- gallons,  and  quarter-pounds, 
and  names,  and  young  ones,  are  all 
mixed  up  for  half  an  hour.  Fred 
don't  know  one  young  one  from  an- 
other, and  is  continually  getting 


things  charged  to  the  wrong  per- 
sons." 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  Mrs.  Morgan, 
"  that  my  school  should  annoy  any 
one;  but  I  cannot  help  the  children 
doing  errands  for  their  parents." 

"  Well,  you  can  keep  them  from 
running  into  the  store  play-spells  and 
noonings;  and  they  can  keep  their 
baskets  and  bundles  until  school  is 
out.  As  for  the  rest,  you  can  whip 
them,  or  do  anything  you  like.  I 
don't  care ;  and  I  don't  want  to  hear 
anything  about  it." 

And  John  Morgan,  unheeding  the 
surprised  looks  of  his  children,  or  the 
disappointment  in  his  wife's  face, 
picked  up  his  books  and  went  to  the 
store. 

"What  ails  papa,  mother?"  said 
Davy,  coming  to  her  side  with  his  tin 
cup  filled  with  parched  corn. 

"I  don't  know,  dear;  I  suppose  his 
business  bothers  him.  But  it  is  bed- 
time now  for  young  folks." 

"'Tis,  hey?"  exclaimed  Sam  Jen- 
kins, sweeping  the  checkers  into  a 
box  just  as  his  opponent  was  crown- 
ing a  king.  "That  means  me;  an'  I 
hain't  goin'  to  set  here  an'  be  beat 
agin  at  no  sech  baby  game  as  check- 
ers is;  hanged  if  I  be!"  And  amidst 
the  laughter  of  his  companions,  he 
climbed  the  steep  stairs  leading  to 
the  men's  room,  followed  by  his  vic- 
tor. 

Big  Bill  took  a  candle,  and,  lighting 
it  by  a  brand  from  the  fireplace,  went 
to  his  room  ;  and  Bessie,  after  finish- 
ing preparations  for  breakfast,  cover- 
ed the  fire,  and  followed  him. 

But  Mary  Morgan  sat  for  hours 
with  her  sleeping  babe  in  her  arms, 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


57 


gazing  intently  into  the  smouldering 
ashes,  as  though  they  held  the  secret 
of  her  expiring  hopes  and  chilling 
disappointments. 

The  new  "rewards  of  merit"  were 
prepared,  and  exhibited  to  the  school 
the  following  day.  The  eagerness 
•with  which  each  pupil  studied  show- 
ed a  determination  to  be  the  first  to 
win  the  prize. 

The  glittering  coins  pierced  by  the 
gay  ribbons  were  laid  beside  the 
home  -  made  book  that  recorded  the 
attendance,  behavior,  and  recitations 
of  each  pupil. 

Maid  Miriam  was  in  her  happiest 
mood,  cooing  and  laughing  quietly  as 
she  rattled  a  bit  of  paper,  or  twisted  a 
scarlet  thread  around  her  taper  fin- 
gers. 

The  prize  was  awarded  to  a  blue- 
eyed  girl,  who  spelled  the  one -sylla- 
bled words  correctly,  and  knew;  the 
country,  State,  county,  and  township 
of  which  she  was  resident. 

The  next  class  passed  triumphant- 
ly down  the  column  of  spelling,  but 
•wavered  before  the  formidable  ques- 
tions, "Who  is  President  of  the 
United  States  ?  Who  is  governor  of 
this  State  ?"  and  the  bright  half-  dol- 
lar was  finally  suspended  by  its  gay 
ribbon  from  the  neck  of  a  curly-head- 
ed urchin',  who  could  scarcely  wait 
until  it  was  sewed  to  his  jacket  be- 
fore he  rushed  homeward  to  show  the 
prize  to  his  mother. 

The  remainder  of  the  class  took 
their  sun -bonnets  and  followed  him, 
eagerly  telling  how  they  were  "jest 
goin'  to  say "  the  correct  answer 
when  they  gave  the  wrong  one. 

"  Now.  young  people,"  Mrs.  Morgan 


said,  holding  up  the  remaining  coin, 
"  I  wonder  who  will  wear  this  silver 
medal  first?  But,  remember,  if  you 
miss  to-night,  you  may  win  to-mor- 
row ;  so  keep  trying.  First  class  in 
spelling !" 

All  the  largest  boys  and  girls  left 
their  seats,  and  ranged  themselves  be- 
fore the  teacher's  desk  in  a  long  row, 
carefully  toeing  the  mark. 

"  Henry,  this  is  your  class,"  said 
Mrs.  Morgan,  turning  to  a  pale-faced, 
white-haired  boy  near  the  door;  "you 
can  go  to  the  foot  to-day  that  you  may 
win  a  place  at  the  head  to-morrow." 

The  boy's  face  flushed  crimson, 
making  the  whiteness  of  his  hair  and 
eyebrows  more  apparent  as  he  rose 
and  walked  awkwardly  to  his  place 
at  the  foot  of  the  line  of  giggling  ur- 
chins, who  stared  at  his  blue  cloth 
"  roundabout,"  adorned  with  rows  of 
brass  buttons  from  the  bottom  of  the 
waist  to  the  top  of  the  shoulders. 
The  tightly  fitting  black  pantaloons 
contrasted  strangely  with  their  loose- 
ly hanging  cotton  trousers  ;  and  the 
leathern  gaiters  stumbled  along  as 
though  feeling  out  of  place  among  the 
bare  feet  of  the  other  boys. 

"Number,"  commanded  the  teacher. 

"First,"  said  Jamie,  who  stood  at 
the  head;  "Second,"  "Third,"  "Fifth." 

"You  stand  foitrth,  Polly  Brown." 

"  No,  ma'am ;  I  stood  fifth  yester- 
day, and  I  hain't  got  above  nobody," 
said  the  girl,  twisting  the  corner  of 
her  checked  apron  and  glancing  shyly 
down  the  class. 

"How  is  this?"  inquired  the  teach- 
er ;  "  who  stood  above  Polly  ?" 

"  Wai,  I  guess  I  wus  up  thar  yis- 
terday;  but  I'd  sooner  stay  here,  ef 


58 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


it's  tli'  same  tew  you,"  answered  Jack 
Roclgers,  who,  being  a  man  in  height, 
felt  out  of  place  among  the  smaller 
children. 

"I  prefer  your  keeping  your  place, 
Jack ;  it  saves  time  and  trouble,  and 
I  don't  think  Polly  minds  your  being 
above  her.  Now  number  again  1" 

" Theme"  pronounced  the  teacher. 

"Tevth" 

The  words  were  spelled  as  rapidly 
as  pronounced. 

*  Eighth" 

It  was  Jamie's  turn;  but  his  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  a  spider  weaving  a 
web  across  the  window-pane. 

"Next." 

Jamie  started,  and  blushed  as  he 
realized  he  had  lost  his  position. 

"  I'm  sorry,  ray  son  ;  but  you  must 
stop  that  habit  of  day-dreaming.  Dan, 
it  is  your  turn." 

"  E-a-g-h-t-h,"  said  the  boy,  confi- 
dently. 

"  Next." 

"  E-y-g-h-t-h,"  faltered  Beckie  San- 
ders. 

"Next." 

"  E-i-g-h-t,  eight?  said  Jack. 

"That's  not  the  word.  Next — 
eighth." 

"E-a-y—  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  ex- 
claimed Polly,  the  tears  starting  to 
her  eyes  at  losing  a  chance  to  go  up 
head. 

"The  word  is  very  easy;  only  think 
how  it  looks  on  the  page.  I  do  not 
see  how  any  of  you  can  misspell  it. 
Try  it,  Sammy." 

"  A-i-g-h-th,"  said  Sammy,  trium- 
phantly. 

"Next." 

"A-y-gh-t-h,"  said  the  next  boy. 


The  interest  grew  intense ;  the  head 
and  foot  of  the  class  unconsciously 
kept  stepping  forward  to  see  the  spell- 
ers, until  the  straight  line  became  a, 
curve. 

The  new  scholar  was  quivering  with 
excitement.  His  fingers  were  clasped 
and  unclasped  in  impatient  agony  lest 
some  one  above  him  should  spell  it 
correctly.  His  face  twitched,  his  eyes 
dilated,  his  breath  came  quick  and 
hard. 

"Next,"  said  the  teacher;  and  his 
turn  had  come. 

A  triumphant  smile  swept  over  the 
crimsoned  face ;  he  drew  himself  up, 
and  in-  a  shrill  crescendo  voice  be- 
gan, 

"  He-hi-g-haitch-t-haich !" 

The  last  letter  was  a  scream,  and 
he  started  instantly  for  the  head  of 
the  class. 

A  burst  of  laughter  convulsed  the 
whole  school. 

Mrs.  Morgan  closed  the  book,  and 
gave  the  command  to  "  number,"  try- 
ing in  vain  to  control  her  face  suffi- 
ciently to  restore  order. 

Little  Miriam  began  to  cry  with 
fright;  and  it  was  for  her  sake  the 
noisy  boys  tried  to  suppress  their 
laughter. 

"Henry  White  has  won  the  medal 
for  the  day,"  announced  the  teacher; 
"  and  though  he  misuses  the  letter  Jf, 
no  doubt  lie  sees  as  great  blunders  in 
our  speaking.  So  let  us  all  help  each 
other  to  sjieak  right,  and  act  right — 
no  one  getting  angry  at  a  joke,  and 
no  one  carrying  a  joke  too  far.  The 
class  is  dismissed.  Put  your  desks  in 
order,  then  go  out  quietly.  Good- 
night." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

[A  mistiness  broods  in  the  air — the  swell 

Of  east  winds  slowly  wearing  autumn's  pall, 
With  dirge-like  sadness,  wanders  up  the  dell; 
And  red  leaves  from  the  maple  slowly  fall 
With  scarce  a  sound:  what  strange  mysterious  rest 
Uath  Nature  bound  the  Lotus  to  her  breast?" 

MOLLIE  MOORE. 


"  IP  this  'ere  spell  o'  weather  holds 
>ut,  you  may  as  well  git  your  traps 
•eady  fur  Jarsey,  little  woman,"  Mor- 
is said,  as  he  stamped  the  mud  from 
lis  feet  at  the  kitchen  door. 

"  Hey,  Willy,"  Bessie  exclaimed, 
>ausing  with  a  ladleful  of  golden  but- 
,er  over  an  earthen  jar, "  be  ye  daffin', 
100?" 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,  little  wife ;  I'm  in 
lead  airnest.  The  river's  riz  six  inch- 
is  sense  las'  night,  an'  ef  it  keeps  on 
•aisin'  there'll  be  a  fresh,  sure." 

Mrs.  Morgan  came  from  the  other 
•oom  with  Miriam  in  her  arms. 

"Are  you  very  certain  we  can  go?" 
she  asked,  her  face  lighting  up  with 
jleasure  dimmed  with  fear. 

"  Wall,  no,  marm ;  I  hain't  certain 
>'  nothin'.  But  there's  a  raft  all 
•eady,  'ceptin'  the  loadin',  an'  there's 
i  fresh'  lackin'  'bout  ten  inches.  The 
clouds  are  puttin'  in  thar  best  licks 
now,  an'  I'm  goin'  to  the  mill  to  look 
irtcr  some  cherry  boards  we're  goin' 
to  take  fur  loadin'.  So  ef  you  tew 


wimmen  really  want  to  go  'long,  why 
you'd  better  be  gittin'  reddy;  an'  ef 
yer  don't  want  ter,  an'  won't  nohow, 
why,  ye  might  be  gittin'  up  a  dinner- 
box  fur  us  poor  fellers  what  hev  to 
go  anyhow,"  and,  laughing,  he  walked 
away. 

"  Eh,  mem,  'tis  maist  unco  gude  to 
be  true.  But  I'll  gang  on  with  the 
airnin',  an'  we  hae  enough  breid. 
S'all  I  mak'  ginger- cake?  An'  wad 
ye  like  some  corn  -  beef,  or  wull  the 
ham  be  sufficient?" 

"If  we  can  go,  we  had  better  take 
a  box  of  provisions  for  ourselves  be- 
sides the  men's.  I  will  make  some 
sandwiches.  My  trunk  has  been 
packed  nearly  all  summer — except  a 
few  things  for  the  children ;  and 
baby's  cloak  and  hood  are  not  quite 
done.  It  does  seem  too  good  to  be 
true.  Oh,  how  I  hope  nothing  will 
prevent  our  going !  Mother  Rodgers 
said  she  would  come  any  time  and 
keep  house.  A  rainy  day  never  look^ 
ed  so  cheery  before." 


CO 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


The  preparations  went  on  rapidly ; 
and  when  Mr.  Morgan  returned,  wet 
and  weary,  from  a  two  days'  collect- 
ing tour,  he  saw  faces  so  expectant  of 
LI iss  they  were  almost  tearful.  He 
had  met  with  better  success  than  he 
had  anticipated  in  collecting  store 
debts,  and,  with  more  than  enough 
money  to  pay  for  running  the  lum- 
ber, he  was  very  willing  to  give  his 
family  a  pleasure  so  long  deferred. 

Another  day  was  spent  in  prepara- 
tion. The  boys  were  wild  with  de- 
light. Jamie  constructed  a  ship,  with 
paper  sails,  to  float  beside  the  raft. 

Davy  prepared  fish-lines  and  hooks 
and  a  box  of  bait.  And  little  Miriam, 
appearing  to  understand  that  packing 
up  was  the  order  of  the  day,  collected 
her  dolls  and  their  clothing,  her  rattle- 
box  and  primer,  and  stowed  them  all 
under  the  pillow  in  her  cradle. 

"How  she  will  miss  her  rock-a- 
bye!"  Mrs.  Morgan  said,  as  the  curly 
head  lay  down  for  a  noonday  nap, 
singing  a  sleepy  song  without  words, 
while  her  mother  gently  touched  the 
cradle  as  she  sewed. 

"Never  went  to  sleep  'thout  rock- 
in',  did  she?"  said  Mrs.  Rodgers. 
"Wall,  neow,  Jack,  can't  you  holler 
out  a  log  an'  make  a  cradle  fur  her, 
like  you  wus  rocked  in  ?" 

"  Don't  b'lieve  I've  got  time,  mam- 
my," Jack  answered.  "But  tell  you 
what  kin  be  done ;  I  kin  git  an  emp- 
ty box  an'  nail  it  on  a  piece  o'  slab, 
an'  I  guess  likely  she'll  rock -a- bye 
herself  in  that.  Won't  ye,  sweet- 
heart ?" 

The  child  opened  her  sleepy  eyes, 
smiled  dreamily,  and  reached  up  her 
tiny  hands;  but  sleep  conquered. 


The  hands  dropped,  the  eyes  closed, 
and  the  smile  faded  into  a  dream. 

Jack  stooped  and  touched  her  fore- 
head with  his  lips. 

"  Don't  ye  let  nothin'  happen  to 
her,  Mis'  Morgan.  Seems  if  I'd  never 
want  to  set  eyes  on  you  agin  if  ye 
didn't  bring  her  back  all  right." 

"Why,  Jack,"  exclaimed  the  moth- 
er, startled  by  his  look  and  tone, 
"  what  could  happen  ?  Isn't  it  safe — 
the  raft  I  mean  ?  And  you  have  built 
a  cabin  and  made  a  place  for  fire; 
why,  I  expect  we  will  have  a  splendid 
time." 

"  Course  we  will.  I  didn't  mean 
nothin',"  and  he  laughed  uneasily. 
"  I  was  thinkin'  if  she  should  git  sick 
in  Philadelphy ;"  and  his  lips  quiver- 
ed as  he  turned  away. 

The  night  was  half  spent  before  all 
was  ready  for  their  journey ;  but  the 
new  day  was  only  dawning  when 
Morris  roused  the  household  with  his 
hearty  "  Hurrah,  everybody  !  Time 
to  be  up  an'  at  it !" 

Jamie  and  Davy  tumbled  out  of 
their  trundle  -  bed,  and  were  half 
dressed  in  their  new  suits  before  the 
kitchen  fire  was  lighted,  getting  but- 
tons and  button -holes  mixed,  gar- 
ments inside  out  and  hind  side  before, 
in  a  way  impossible  to  any  creature 
but  a  hurrying  boy. 

"I'm  jest  a-gittin'  gladder  and  glad- 
der every  minute !"  Davy  declared, 
dancing  around  on  one  foot,  while 
lacing  the  shoe  on  the  other.  "  Moth- 
er, when  a  feller  feels  as  if  he  could 
fly,  why  can't  he  ?" 

"Because  his  body  isn't  as  light  as 
his  heart,  I  suppose." 

"  Well,  I'd  rather  sail  on  the  river 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


ci 


than  fly  in  the  air,  anyway.  If  I  was 
a  bird,  I'd  be  a  duck." 

"  Well,  you're  a  goose,  and  that's 
near  enough.  Come,  hurry  up,  Dave ; 
breakfast  is  ready— come  on,"  said  his 
brother. 

Passengers  and  baggage  were  upon 
the  raft,  as  the  first  rays  of  sunlight 
leaped  over  the  hill-tops  and  tinged 
the  river  with  a  ruddy  glow.  The 
white  cottage  gleamed  through  its 
mantle  of  green  and  scarlet  foliage, 
and  at  its  back  the  forest  waved  red 
and  yellow  banners  amidst  its  ranks 
of  evergreen,  while  the  whole  earth 
seemed  dressed  for  a  holiday. 

"All  aboard  now!  An'  ef  ye  can't 
git  a  board,  git  a  slab !"  shouted  Big 
Bill.  "  Man  yer  oars !  Now,  then, 
untie  her.  JarseyP* 

Slowly  the  space  of  water  widened 
between  them  and  the  shore.  Slow- 
ly at  first,  but  more  rapidly  as  they 
glided  away,  the  cottage  and  the  river- 
bank  seemed  receding.  Fred  waved 
bis  hat;  the  men  shouted,  "Good  luck 
to  ye !"  And  Mrs.  Rodgers,  with  a 
Gjay  handkerchief  about  her  head,  and 
a  smile  on  her  earnest  face,  looked  the 
presiding  genius  of  the  scene. 

"Fred  looks  lonely.  Poor  fellow, 
[  wish  he  could  come  too." 

"Well,  I  think  there's  enough 
come,"  her  husband  answered,  gruffly. 
"  I  guess  somebody's  got  to  stay  to 
see  to  things." 

"  I  suppose  that  means  me,  Mister 
Morgan,"  Bill  said,  good-humoredly; 
"  an'  I'll  allow  there  wa'n't  no  special 
use  of  both  of  us  a-comin',  seen  's  the 
raft  's  sold  an'  the  loadin'  bargained 
fur.  But,  ye  see,  it's  fashionable  to 
take  a  trip  after  yer  married,  an'  this 


is  Bessie's  and  my  weddin' -  tower. 
Ain't  it,  little  woman?"  to  the  rosy- 
cheeked  wife,  who,  with  her  blue  hood 
pushed  back,  and  golden  hair  waving 
about  her  face,  was  gazing  at  sky, 
hill,  and  valley,  as  if  a  new  world  had 
opened  before  her. 

"Toots,  Willy,"  she  said,  blushing 
and  dimpling  with  delight,  "'tis  a 
better  journey  than  the  newly  wed 
can  know;  an'  this  is  a  fairer  day 
than  the  spring-time  can  bring.  See 
how  sweet  and  content  the  valleys 
lie  'twixt  the  hills." 

"That's  so,  little  wife;  harvest- 
time  is  better  'n  plantin'.  An'  when 
you  an'  I  go  up  to  th'  house,  an'  see 
th'  ol'  folks  standin'  in  th'  door  a-wait- 
in'  for  us —  Pennsylvania  !  Lively, 
boys  !"  And  Morris  brushed  the  back 
of  his  hand  across  his  eyes. 

The  men  sprung  to  their  oars ;  lift- 
ing the  tips  of  the  stem  at  arm's- 
length,  and,  dipping  the  blade  deep 
in  the  water,  they  put  their  strength 
to  the  oar,  which  bent  almost  to  the 
point  of  breaking  as  they  went  tip- 
toeing across  the  raft;  then,  quickly 
lowering  their  hands,  lifting  the  oar- 
blade  out  of  the  water,  ran  back  again, 
repeating  the  movement  until  com- 
manded to  "  Holt !" 

"Pretty  close  shave,  Bill,"  Jack 
Rodgers  remarked,  quietly  cutting  a 
piece  from  a  plug  of  tobacco  he  held 
in  his  hand. 

"A  miss  's  as  good  as  a  mile,  they 
say;  but  hanged  if  I  b'lieve  it." 

"That  depends  a  good  deal  on  the 
miss,  an'  suthin'  on  the  mile.  We 
know  you're  kindy  'fraid  o'  Miss  Su- 
san ;  but  guess  it's  a  good  travelled 
mile  between  ye,  ain't  it?  Honest, 


02 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


now,  it  did  look  as  if  that  miss  was 
goin'  to  be  a  hit.  I  let  the  raft  sag- 
over  a  purpose ;  wanted  to  stir  you 
up  an'  git  yer  gait,  so  's  I  could  see 
what  sort  o'  han's  I  hed  to  depend 
on." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  us  ?" 
"  Oh,  you'll  do ;  you  jest  fairly  lift- 
ed 'er.  See  ef  ye'll  do  as  well  for'ard 
at  Butler's,  Foul  Rift,  an'  Wells's. 
The  las'  time  I  come  through  here, 
I'd  jest  as  live  scrape  agin  that  rock 
as  not — didn't  want  to  stave,  ye  know, 
but  enjoyed  comiu'  purty  nigh  to  it ; 
but  now "  —  glancing  at  the  cabin 
where  the  women  and  children  were 
sitting — "  well,  now  it's  different ;  an' 
I  won't  take  no  more  chances  this 
trip.  Davy,  where's  yer  fish  -  line  ? 
Bring  yer  bait-box,  an'  I'll  show  you 
how  to  hook  a  sucker.  Jamie  wants 
to  ketch  an  eel,  don't  ye  ?  or  would 
ye  ruther  take  my  oar  fur  a  spell, 
while  I  go  an'  lay  down  on  the  straw? 
That  las'  pull  kinder  winded  me. 
Here,  Davy,  you  set  down  here,  an' 
let  your  line  drop  'tween  th'  rafts. 
There's  room  to  haul  up  a  bigger  fish 
'n  you'll  ketch.  See  what  a  lot  of 
pin-fish  !  Tie  yer  line  to  this  grub,  an' 
git  Bessie  to  give  ye  a  piece  o'  bread 
to  crumb  up  an'  drop  in  here.  More 
fish  '11  come  thar  than  you  an'  Jamie 
can  both  of  you  count." 

Leaving  the  boys  so  well  employed, 
Morris  seated  himself  beside  his  wife. 
Jack  was  lying  on  the  straw  with  lit- 
tle Miriam  in  his  arms,  crowing  and 
cooing  at  a  branch  of  red  leaves  he 
fluttered  beyond  her  reach.  Mrs. 
Morgan  glanced  a  little  uneasily  at 
the  deserted  oars,  as  the  other  men 
sauntered  to  the  provision -box,  and, 


abstracting  a  pie,  cut  it  into  quarters, 
and  began  leisurely  to  devour  it. 

"I  did  not  suppose  you  could  let 
the  raft  go  at  all  without  guiding  it," 
she  said  to  Jack. 

"  Oh,  it's  got  the  right  pint,  an'  this 
is  still  water.  Bill  knows  this  river 
from  the  Forks  to  Trenton  as  well 
as  you  know  the  path  through  your 
door-yard.  He  can  tell  by  lookin'  at 
the  hills  on  either  side  where  we  be, 
'n  then  he  knows  'bout  how  fast  we're 
runnin',  and  could  calculate  to  half  a 
second  when  there's  pullin'  to  be  done 
if  he  wus  blindfolded.  He'll  set  thar 
's  unconcerned  as  an  owl  for  'bout 
three  minutes,  an'  then 'you'll  see  him 
jump  an'  yell  '  Jarsey.'  Want  to  go 
to  your  bye-o,  sweetheart?  Well, 
yer  bed's  soft  as  straw  an'  blank- 
ets ken  make  it ;  an'  here's  yer  own 
little  pillow.  Now,  then,  rock-a-bye, 
Beauty." 

The  water  rippled  and  twinkled, 
splashing  musically  against  the  raft, 
the  winds  rustled  the  gay  foliage  as 
they  glided  close  to  the  shore,  and 
the  white  clouds  and  brilliant -hued 
hills  were  reflected  in  the  clear  wa- 
ters till  they  seemed  floating  in  mid- 
air, with  the  sky  above  and  beneath 
them.  Even  Morris  seemed  impress- 
ed by  the  solemn  grandeur  of  the 
scene,  and,  rising  quietly,  said,  "Come, 
boys."  Jack  gave  the  cradle  a  final 
rock ;  the  men  brushed  the  crumbs 
from  their  bearded  lips,  and  each 
sauntered  to  his  oar. 

"  Jarsey!" 

The  water,  which  had  been  smooth 
as  a  mirror,  began  to  swell  and  roll ; 
now  it  dashed  foaming  upon  a  rock, 
now  rushed  fiercely  across  the  raft. 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


^he  timber  shook  and  creaked;  the 
ien  pulled  with  might  and  main. 

"  Pcnnsylvan'a  !"  shouted  Bill. 

The  men  sprung  to  the  other  side 
f  their  oars,  and  pulled  hard,  though 
nth  slower  step.  The  water  grew 
lore  calm,  then  quiet ;  and  a  long 
pace  of  glassy  surface  spread  before 
hem  without  a  ripple  or  a  wave  from 
hore  to  shore. 

"Was  that  a  very  bad  place?" 
Irs.  Morgan  asked,  as  Jack  returned 
o  Miriam's  side. 

"That?  why,  that  wus  nothin'  but 

rift.  You  don't  call  that  rough, 
o  ye?  Jest  wait  till  ye  git  to 
?ochecton  Falls ;  in  a  low  fresh  like 
his  there'll  be  some  roarin'  an'  pitch- 
i',  I  tell  ye !  But  don't  you  be 
cared ;  Bill's  a  good  steersman,  an' 
e's  bound  to  git  this  raft  through 
11  right  long  's  his  woman's  aboard." 

"Mother,"  said  Davy,  "  w hen's  din- 
er goin'  to  be  ready  ?  I  am  as  hun- 
ry  as — little  fishes." 

"  Hae  ye  caught  ony  ?"  Bessie  asked. 

"  Yes ;  caught  lots  of  'em  stealm' 
\e  bait;  they  ought  to  have  a  con- 
table  after  'em,  little  nasty  minnows  ! 
'he  chubs  and  suckers  just  smelled 
f  the  bait,  then  cocked  one  eye  up 
t  me,  and  swam  off.  But  I  caught 
Dmething,  Bessie." 

"What,noo?" 

"A  crick  in  my  back,  and  a  big  ap- 
etite.  Get  dinner  right  away,  won't 
ou?" 

"It's  reddy  an'  waitin'.  Come  awa' 
)  the  box ;  it's  a  picnic  dinner  ye'll 
et  noo." 

The  sandwiches  were  distributed; 
10  cups  filled  from  the  bottles  of 
lilk  and  cold  tea;  the  pie  and  dough- 


nuts laid  upon  a  towel  beside  them; 
while  the  men  went  by  turns  to  their 
own  box,  sliced  bread  and  ham  with 
their  pocket-knives,  rinsing  down  huge 
mouthfuls  by  draughts  of  river  water. 

Jamie  sat  on  a  pile  of  boards  with 
his  elbow  on  his  knee,  and  his  head 
i-esting  on  his  hand,  with  a  biscuit 
half-way  to  his  lips;  but  his  thoughts 
were  engrossed  in  the  beautiful  scene 
before  him. 

"Mother,"  he  exclaimed,  at  length, 
"do  see  that  creek  come  tumbling 
down  the  mountain ;  the  water  turns 
to  mist  before  it  reaches  the  river !" 

"  Your  dinner  will  be  missed  if  you 
don't  eat  it,"  said  Davy,  snatching  the 
biscuit  from  his  hand. 

"My  son,  don't  be  so  rude  !  Davy 
is  almost  as  fond  of  punning  as  you 
are,  Morris." 

"Yes;  I  guess  it's  kinder  ketchin'. 
I  got  it  of  Long  John,  an'  Davy  he's 
ketched  it  from  me ;  'n  fact,  I  sorter 
felt  's  ef  I  's  indebted  to  the  family, 
ye  know,  an'  orter  train  him  up  to 
'muse  ye,  somehow.  An'  as  I  hain't 
no  drum  nor  whistle  fur  him,  I  set 
him  to  making  puns,  an'  now  he  kin 
make  'bout 's  bad  a  one  as  I  kin ;  can't 
ye,  Davy  ?" 

"Pretty  near;  but  Fred  will  beat 
all  of  us.  Ain't  it  funny  we're  all  so 
punny?"  And  the  boy  ran  away  to 
assist  Jamie  in  launching  the  ship. 

Like  a  panorama  the  varying  scenes 
glided  by.  The  rugged  mountains 
disappeared,  and  autumn-painted  hills, 
surrounding  verdant  valleys,  fruitful 
orchards,  or  pleasant  homes  were  seen 
on  either  hand.  Then  the  river  nar- 
rowed, and  the  waters  grew  black  as 
they  reflected  the  hemlock -trees  and 


G4 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


fern -crowned  rocks  overhanging  the 
way.  Again  it  widened,  and  villages 
with  church  -  spires  and  tavern  signs 
appeared.  The  men  hallooed  to  rafts- 
men on  shore;  some  children  waved 
their  hats  to  Jamie  and  Davy.  Then 
a  turn  in  the  river  hid  all  sight  of  hu- 
man habitation.  Bessie  leaned  upon 
her  husband's  oar  in  earnest  talk. 
The  other  men,  with  slow  steps  to  and 
fro,  kept  the  raft  in  the  current.  The 
boys  were  sailing  their  ship  upon  the 
unruffled  water  behind  the  raft,  while 
Mr.  Morgan,  shading  his  eyes  with  one 
hand,  was  closely  examining  some  fig- 
ures in  his  account-book.  Babe  Mir- 
iam slept  on  in  the  shade  of  the  cabin. 
For  a  long  time  Mrs.  Morgan 
mused  ;  then,  taking  paper  and  pencil 
from  her  bag,  she  wrote  : 

Autumn,  wistful-faced  and  dreamy-eyed, 
Is  wandering  down  the  mountain  side; 
Throwing  back  the  veil  of  mist 
From  the  brow  by  sunbeams  kissed, 
And  gathering  close  about  her  form 
Her  robe  of  colors  rich  and  warm, 
While  murmuring  a  sweet  refrain, 
As  she  gathers  golden  grain, 
Ripened  fruit,  and  brilliant  flowers, 
From  verdant  fields  and  woodland  bowers. 
She  saunters  through  the  valleys  fair 
Where  misty  splendor  fills  the  air ; 
And  wanders  o'er  the  rocky  height 
Veiling  the  hills  with  purple  light. 
She  pauses  now :  is  it  to  hear 
The  voices  of  the  bounteous  year  ? 
The  falling  nuts,  the  rustling  com, 
The  bird  songs  welcoming  the  morn, 
The  cricket's  chirr-chirr,  the  blue-jay's  call, 
The  river's  murmur  through  it  all  ? 
Ah,  tear-drops  gather  in  her  eyes 
As,  with  a  sudden,  sad  surprise, 
She  sees  her  flowers  are  faded,  dead ! 
And  dry  leaves  rustle  'neath  her  tread. 

A   breeze    rustled   the    paper    in   her 
hand,  and  a  shadow  fell  upon  the  river. 


One  of  the  men,  glancing  at  the 
cabin,  said,  "  Hope  that  thar  shanty  '11 
shed  water.  Goin'  to  hev  it  over  and 
under  too  purty  soon." 

"  Guess  we'd  better  land  'fore  we 
reach  Lackawac,  hedn't  we?"  drawled 
another,  as  Mr.  Morgan  hastily  put  up 
his  papers  and  looked  at  the  white 
mist  drifting  across  the  hills. 

"No,"  he  answered,  shortly;  "  we'll 
make  this  trip  in  four  days." 

The  water  grew  darker,  and  the 
trees  rustled  ominously,  as  the  women 
and  children  huddled  together  on  the 
straw  of  the  tiny  cabin,  and  the  mist 
hovered  over  them,  and  settled  down 
in  a  chilly,  drizzling  rain. 

"Bessie,  comin'  to  Cochecton  Falls 
now !"  called  Bill. 

The  boys  and  Bessie  sprung  to  their 
feet,  and  ran  out  to  see  the  water  dash 
over  the  half-hidden  rocks. 

"Looks  like  sheep  jumping  over  a 
wall,  don't  it?"  Davy's  shrill  treble 
rung  out,  above  the  tumult  of  the  wa- 
ters and  the  loud  voices  of  the  men. 

"  Oh,  mother,"  gasped  Jamie,  "  do 
look !  It's  like  monsters  leaping  up 
and  dashing  the  water  to  foam." 

Mrs.  Morgan  stepped  to  the  door  of 
the  cabin  with  her  babe  in  her  arms ; 
heard  the  confused  roar  and  rush  of 
waters  around  them;  saw  the  foam- 
capped  billows  rise  and  fall;  felt  the 
timbers  heave  and  shake  under  her; 
and,  calling  her  boys  to  her  side,  sunk 
upon  her  knees  in  prayer  as  the  raft 
glided  safely  into  smooth  water. 

"Some  purty  tough  pullin'  there," 
Jack  said,  as  he  sauntered  to  the  pro- 
vision-box for  a  "chunk  o'  cake." 
"Neow  yeou  jest  keep  inside  here  till 
we  git  to  Lackawac.  Ain't  nothin' 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


G5 


more  worth  seein'  to-day,  'less  it's  the 
Narrows  o'  Big  Eddy.  Guess  we  kin 
^it  a  purty  comfortable  shake -down 
to-night,  seein'  there's  so  few  rafts 
runnin'." 

Bill's  yell  "  Jarsey  !"  made  him  drop 
Lhe  cake  and  run  to  his  oar. 

The  raft  they  had  hailed  at  Calli- 
joon  had  overtaken  them,  and  was 
massing  by. 

"  Goin'  to  stop  to  Big  Eddy  ?"  their 
steersman  inquired. 

"No;  going  to  Lackawaxen,"  Mr. 
yiorgan  shouted,  in  reply. 

"Wall,  I  wouldn't  risk  making 
;hat  landin'  arter  dark  with  wirnmeu 
iboard." 

Davy  crept  from  under  the  blanket, 
ind,  heedless  of  rain,  stood  by  his  fa- 
ilicr.  The  clouds  had  descended  be- 
ow  the  tops  of  the  hills  that  now 
:rowded  the  river  to  a  narrow  stream. 

"Oh,  father!"  Davy  cried,  "we 
:an't  go  no  farther,  nohow.  See !  the 
nil  has  moved  right  across  the  river 
ind  shut  us  all  in  !" 

And  so  it  seemed.  There  was  no 
>pening  visible  on  either  side;  but 
,he  raft  floated  on,  and  before  readi- 
ng the  mountain  that  barred  the 
vay  the  opposite  hill  seemed  to  draw 
)ack,  leaving  a  narrow  entrance  to 
,he  Big  Eddy.  "With  rare  good  luck 
,he  raft  caught  a  favorable  current  and 
vas  borne  through  the  eddy  without 
)eing  caught  by  the  surging  counter- 
surrents  of  either  side,  which  frequent- 
y  seize  upon  and  delay  for  hours, some- 
times days,  every  floating  object  that 
>asses  the  Narrows.  The  entire  vol- 
ime  of  water  rushing  through  a  chan- 
lel  less  than  two  hundred  feet  in  width 
nto  the  deep  and  wide  eddy  creates 
5 


great  whirlpools  which  are  dangerous 
to  rafts  in  high  freshets,  and  tosses 
logs  and  trees  as  a  cat  plays  with  a 
mouse. 

The  current  below  being  rapid, 
Lackawaxen  was  soon  reached.  The 
Lackawaxen  River  joins  the  Delaware 
at  this  point,  and  the  Delaware  and 
Lackawaxen  Canal  crosses  it  here. 
A  dam  creates  a  pond  through  which 
the  water  flows  slowly;  but  the  mo- 
mentum given  the  raft  by  the  rapids 
above  makes  it  difficult  to  stop  at  the 
landing.  Dusky  shadows  were  fast 
obscuring  the  shore ;  while  the  sound 
of  the  waters  pouring  over  the  dam 
was  to  Mrs.  Morgan's  terrified  fancy 
like  a  roaring  lion  in  the  way. 

"Better  let  Jack  handle  that  rope, 
Mister  Morgan,"  said  Morris. 

"No, I  will  attend  to  that  myself," 
he  answered,  shortly. 

"  Well,  Mister  Morgan,  you  kin  han- 
dle that  thirty-foot  rope  an'  snub  on 
the  rafts  when  we  come  to  'em,  ef  you 
want  to  ;  but  you  let  Jack  handle  the 
long  rope  an'  snub  'er  up  on  the  snub- 
bin'  posts  that  are  set  'long  th'  shore." 

"Well,  well;  you  talk  as  if  you 
owned  this  lumber,  and  I  was  one  of 
your  hands." 

"I  calculate  I'm  capting  of  this 
craft,  Mister  Morgan,  an'  whatever's 
done  while  the  raft  is  movin'  '11  be 
done  'cordin'  to  my  orders;  'n  ef  ye 
don't  like  'em,  ye  kin  go  an'  set  down. 
Wish  to  gracious  you  would !  fur  a 
greenhorn's  allers  in  th'  way  when  a 
difficult  landin'  's  to  be  made ;  an'  this 
ain't  no  fool  of  a  job  before  us." 

Mr.  Morgan  turned  away  in  evident 
ill-humor,  while  Jack  carefully  coiled 
the  rope,  one  end  of  which  was  fasten- 


GO 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


ed  to  the  raft,  and  prepared  to  jump 
on  shore  as  soon  as  the  raft  was  suffi- 
ciently near. 

"Now,  Jack  !"  Bill  shouted. 

Jack  leaped  to  the  shore,  rope  in 
hand,  and  threw  it  in  a  double  coil 
around  a  large  post ;  letting  it  render 
fast  enough  to  avoid  breaking  the 
rope  or  its  fastenings,  thus  gradual- 
ly slackening  the  speed  of  the  raft. 
Post  after  post  was  reached,  used, 
and  passed ;  but  the  current  still  bore 
them  on  rapidly.  The  mist  aided  the 
fast -coming  night  in  obscuring  the 
outline  of  the  bank,  and  it  was  nec- 
essary to  keep  the  forward  end  out 
*from  shore  to  avoid  sticking  or  strik- 
ing other  rafts,  which  might  cause  it 
to  swing  out  into  the  stream  and  go 
sideways  over  the  dam ;  which  would 
be  fatal  to  the  raft,  if  not  to  its  pas- 
sengers. Mr.  Morgan  could  remain 
inactive  no  longer,  and  seizing  the 
thirty -foot  rope,  sprang  upon  a  log 
raft  just  reached,  saying, 

"  I  see  I've  got  to  stop  this  raft, 
if  it  stops  this  side  of  destruction !" 
And  he  tied  one  end  of  the  rope 
around  a  lash-pole.  The  raft  moved 
on ;  a  sound  of  snapping  followed, 
then  a  sharp  crack,  then  —  whiz! — a 
groan,  and  a  splash. 

The  rope  had  broken,  and  the  end, 
striking  Mr.  Morgan  in  the  breast, 
knocked  him  breathless  backward 
upon  the  logs.  He  regained  his 
breath  and  feet,  as  Jack  brought  the 
raft  to  a  standstill,  and  led  the  way 
to  the  tavern,  apparently  deaf  to  the 
jokes  of  the  men.  The  light  of  a  can- 
dle beamed  like  a  ray  of  hope  across 
their  weary  pathway  as,  encumbered 
with  luggage,  they  stumbled  along, 


rain  above  and  mud  beneath  them. 
The  men  around  the  fire  made  room 
for  the  wet  and  cold  women  and  chil- 
dren; and  the  supper  of  fried  ham 
and  eggs  was  soon  served  and  eaten. 

"  Guess  likely  we  kin  give  yer  wim- 
men  folks  a  room  by  themselves,"  said 
the  landlord,  "  though  we're  purty 
middlin'  full."  And  a  half  hour 
later,  they  were  tucked  between 
blankets  of  colored  wool,  and  sleep- 
ing as  soundly  as  though  sheets  of 
finest  quality  and  purest  white  en- 
folded them.  Not  one  hour  by  Bes- 
sie's mental  time  -  piece,  but  eight 
hours  by  the  clock  in  the  hall  had 
been  spent  in  slumber,  when  a  loud 
rap  on  the  door  and  booted  feet  in 
the  next  room  aroused  all  but  Mir- 
iam from  their  sweet,  restful  forget- 
fulness.  The  little  girl  was  gently 
wrapped  in  blankets,  cloak,  and  shawl; 
and  while  the  men  hastily  swallowed 
their  allowance  of  pancakes  and  cof- 
fee, Bessie  refilled  their  pot  with  tea, 
procured  a  supply  of  boiled  eggs  and 
a  bottle  of  milk,  and,  aided  by  the 
boys,  carried  their  extemporized  break- 
fast to  the  raft.  The  air  was  cold  and 
damp,  the  foliage  dripping  and  torn. 
The  river,  black  as  ink,  flowed  sul- 
lenly along  beneath  a  dull  gray  sky. 
Jack  sprung  on  board  with  his  arms 
filled  with  dry  straw  and  some  pine- 
knots. 

"  Goin'  to  be  a  tedious  day,  I'm 
'fraid ;  but  we'll  hev  it  's  comfortable 
as  we  kin,  anyhow." 

Mrs.  Morgan  sat  upon  a  pile  of 
boards,  with  her  sleeping  babe  in  her 
arms,  as  the  raft  left  the  shore  ;  while 
the  boys  nestled  in  the  straw  at  her 
feet,  watching  Bessie  prepare  the 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


morning  meal.  Unconsciously  they 
were  nearing  the  dam. 

"  Eh,  mem !"  screamed  Bessie, 
"  they've  sunk !" 

The  front  part  of  the  raft  had 
dropped  down  and  disappeared.  The 
boy's  faces  were  fixed  for  a  shriek 
of  terror,  but  the  cry  had  not  reach- 
ed their  lips  when  they,  too,  glided 
over  the  glassy  slope;  the  hinder 
part  of  the  raft  dropped  down,  and 
all  were  safely  over  the  dreaded  dam. 

"  I  had  not  time  to  get  frightened," 
Mrs.  Morgan  replied  to  Jack's  inquiry. 
"We  were  over  before  I  knew  we 
were  there." 

"  But  Bessie  thought  Jack  had  gone 
to  feed  fishes.  How  she  yelled  !"  said 
Morris,  teasingly. 

Bessie  picked  up  the  knife  she  had 
dropped,  and  resumed  her  work  of 
cutting  bread  and  beef,  singing  mer- 

rfiy» 

"Although  me  faither  was  na  laird 
('Tis  daffin  to  be  vaunty), 
lie  keepit  a  gude  kail-yaird, 
A  ha  hoose  an'  a  pantry  ; 
A  gude  blue  bonnet  on  his  heid, 
An'  orlay  'bout  his  craigie, 
An'  aye  until  the  day  he  deid 
He  rode  on  gude  shanks  naigie." 

The  rain  now  began  falling  heavily. 
The  fire  Jack  had  kindled  smoked 
drearily  and  went  out.  The  wind 
penetrated  every  crevice  of  the  rude 
cabin,  and  the  children  grew  restless 
and  fretful.  In  vain  Bessie  sung  her 
funniest  songs,  and  Mrs.  Morgan^told 
her  most  charming  stories.  The  boys 
grumbled  at  the  storm,  and  Miriam 
wailed  for  her  "bye-o"  until  they 
each  fell  asleep.  The  fire,  rekindled, 
tempted  the  women  from  the  dark 


cabin  to  warm  their  chilled  feet ;  but 
the  blaze  which  sprung  up  at  Jack's 
coaxing  breath  proved  a  deceptive 
one ;  there  seemed  no  heat  in  it ;  and 
the  smoke  turned  to  whichever  side 
of  the  fire  they  stood.  With  smart- 
ing eyes  and  aching  feet  they  return- 
ed to  the  straw  couch,  hoping  they, 
too,  might  return  to  dream-land.  The 
long  morning  passed  away.  The  rain 
dropped  slowly  and  unwillingly,  then 
ceased,  and  a  ray  of  pale  sunlight  fell 
on  babe  Miriam's  face  as  she  opened 
her  eyes  in  smiling  acceptance  of  its 
promise  that  the  storm  had  gone.  Try- 
ing to  catch  the  sunbeams  in  her  dim- 
pled hand,  she  awakened  the  boys  by 
her  merry  laughter.  Their  tiny  ship 
and  tangled  fish-lines  were  called  for, 
and  their  enjoyment  seemed  restored. 

"  Oh,  what  walls  of  rock !  Do  come 
out  and  see,  mother,"  Jamie  called. 
"They  hang  way  over  the  river. 
Have  they  got  a  name,  Bill  ?" 

"Yes;  they  call  these  Carr's  Rock. 
Don't  look  's  if  they'd  ever  git  a  rail- 
road runnin'  'long-side  o'  that  moun- 
tain, does  it  ?  Yet  that's  right  where 
they're  goin'  to  put  the  road,  they 
say.  I'll  bet  they'll  run  off  some 
time.  My  gracious !  wouldn't  it 
make  a  smash -up,  comin'  right  slam 
down  on  these  rocks,  an'  into  the 
river?  You  boys  better  stay  purty 
near  your  mother  and  Bessie  now,  so 
's  to  take  keer  o'  'em,  ye  know,  fur 
we've  got  rough  water  ahead." 

"  What  places  are  they,  Bill  ?" 

"  Well,  Davy,  it's  purty  rough  most 
the  way  from  Pond  Eddy  to  Port 
Jarvis ;  there's  Stairway,  an'  Butler's, 
an'  Sawmill  Rift." 

"  Is  there  any  danger,  Morris  ?" 


GS 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


"No,  Mis'  Morgan  ;  not  with  good 
ban's  an'  good  light.  Sometimes  the 
fog  rises  jest  enough  to  coax  the  raft 
out  o'  Pond  Eddy  an'  then  shets  right 
down  on  'em  so  's  they  can't  see  nei- 
ther shore.  Then's  the  time  there's 
trouble  at  Sawmill  Rift." 

"They  are  going  to  put  a  bridge 
across  the  river  at  Sawmill  Rift,"  said 
Mr.  Morgan. 

"  Well,  they  may  as  well  stretch  a 
boom  across  an'  stop  every  raft  then, 
an'  better  too;  fur  ef  they  put  a  pile 
o'  stun'  in  th'  river  there,  it  may  kill 
men  's  well 's  stave  lumber." 

With  pieces  of  their  fish -lines  and 
bits  of  boards  the  boys  had  been  imi- 
tating the  horses  on  the  canal,  drop- 
ping the  "  ropes  "  as  they  passed  and 
repassed  each  other  on  the  imaginary 
tow-path,  enjoying  the  sport  far  more 
than  their  mother,  who  started  ner- 
vously as  they  ventured  near  the  edge 
of  the  raft  to  push  off  their  boats. 

"  Davy,  are  you  not  tired  of  being 
a  canal  horse  ?"  she  called,  as  the  boy 
for  a  second  time  stood  in  the  way  of 
the  steersman's  oar.  "Come  here, 
and  I  will  tell  you  a  new  game  I  have 
just  thought  of.  Here  are  two  pen- 
nies; one  for  you,  and  one  for  Jamie. 
Now,  there  are  a  great  many  things 
upon  them  you  never  noticed.  I  can 
see  thirty -five  letters,  some  berries 
and  leaves  and  stars,  two  borders,  an 
eye,  a  neck,  locks,  a  date,  an  ear,  and 
several  other  things.  Now,  if  you 
will  find  all  of  these,  you  may  have 
the  pennies;  and  the  one  who  finds 
the  most  shall  have  half  a  dime." 

"  Can't  I  play  that  too  ?" 

"Yes,  Jack,  if  you  will  find  the 
name  of  a  fruit,  a  grand  church,  a 


scholar,  the  end  of  a  river,  and  an  ani- 
mal." 

"  Well,  I  do  say !  Do  you  mean  to 
tell  me  all  them  things  is  on  a  pen- 
ny?" 

"No;  not  the  things,  but  the 
names.  You  see  these  figures,  1839; 
well,  that's  a  date,  and  a  date  is  a 
fruit." 

"Oh,  ho!  I  see  now.  But  an  ani- 
mal, an'  a  scholar,  an'  a —  I  swan,  the 
mouth'1  s  the  end  o'  th'  river,  ain't  it  ? 
I'll  bet  I'll  hev  'em  all  in  a  jiffy ;"  and 
Jack  returned  to  his  oar  with  a  cent 
in  his  hand. 

"  I've  found  the  animal,"  he  said,  as 
after  a  pull  to  Jersey  he  sauntered 
back  again.  "It  don't  grow  round 
here,  though,  an'  's  a  sort  o'  rabbit, 
ain't  it?  Now,  s'posiu'  I  sh'ti'd  find 
more  things  'an  you  boys  an'  yer 
mother  all  on  ye  c'u'd,  then  I  win  all 
yer  pennies,  wouldn't  I,  Davy  ?" 

"Yes,  sir;  but  I  bet  a  dollar  you 
can't  do  it,"  the  boy  replied. 

"  Mother" — Jamie  lowered  his  voice 
to  a  whisper — "  wouldn't  that  be  gam- 
bling?" 

"Davy,"  she  said,  "what  is  gam- 
bling?" 

"  Why,  taking  what  you  hain't 
given  anything  for." 

"Precisely.  Now,  Jack,  I  have 
found  the  top  of  the  hill,  a  cover,  and 
a  fastening  to  a  door." 

"  Wall,  now,  I  never  see  the  beat ! 
She's  bound  I  sh'll  earn  all  I  git  out 
o'  this  speculation,  ain't  she,  Davy? 
But  I  say  now,  Davy,  what's  bettin' — 
hey?  Tain't  airnin'  nor  givin',  is  it? 
S'posin'  I  took  ye  up  an'  won  yer  dol- 
lar?" 

"  Yes,  boys,  that's  a  question  to  be 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


CO 


thought  of.  And,  Jack,  what  is  spec- 
ulating ?" 

"  Wall,  I  guess  I  got  'nough  thinkin' 
before  me  to  las'  to  tide-water." 

And  he  walked  back  to  his  oar ;  but 
Davy  had  pocketed  his  penny  and 
Jamie  his  half-dime,  and  neither  the 
temple,  brow,  pupil,  nor  locks  had 
been  discovered. 

"  Good  gracious !"  she  heard  him 
exclaim,  in  reply  to  something  Morris 
was  saying,  "  he  don't  mean  to  take 
her  to  ol'  man  Post's,  does  he  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  's  any  worse  fur  his 
wife  'n  mine,"  growled  Bill. 

"  I  wa'n't  thinkin'  o'  nobody's  wife" 
Jack  answered,  in  a  lower  tone. 


"  But  blamed  cf  I  kin  see  why  we 
can't  run  on  t'  th'  nex'  landin'." 

"Jes'his  cussed  contrariness,  that's 
all." 

Mr.  Morgan  stepped  briskly  for- 
ward, saying, 

"  We'll  tie  up  at  Mulliner's." 

When  the  raft  was  landed,  Jack 
stepped  to  Mrs.  Morgan's  side : 

"  We're  goin'  to  the  dirtiest  place 
'long  this  river,"  he  said,  "an'  you 
better  wrap  the  baby  in  a  big  shawl 
an'  hoi'  on  to  'er  till  mornin'.  I've 
hear'n  o'  men  bein'  snaked  out  o'  bed 
an'  clear  'cross  the  road  by —  But 
then,  I  won't  lie;  the  place  is  bad 
enough  an'  tell  the  truth." 


CHAPTER  X. 

"All  things  journey:  sun  and  moon, 
Morning,  noon  and  afternoon, 
Night  and  all  her  stars." 

THE  SPANISH  GTPST. 


THE  mist  was  rising  like  wreaths  of 
smoke  from  the  river,  and  settled  in  a 
bank  of  white  fog  over  the  weath- 
er-beaten building  where  they  were 
to  find  sapper  and  lodgings.  The 
screams  of  crying  children,  and  the 
scolding  tones  of  a  woman's  voice 
were  heard  before  they  reached  the 
door.  Mr.  Morgan  rapped,  and  the 
noises  suddenly  ceased;  the  door 
opened,  and  Mrs.  Morgan  saw  a  tall, 
gaunt  female  with  a  young  babe  in 
her  arms,  and  two  dirty  children  hold- 
ing fast  to  her  skirts,  while  others 
peeped  shyly  at  the  strangers  from 
the  dark  background  of  the  room. 

"We  can't  keep  ye,  nohow,"  she 
said,  her  hand  on  the  latch.  "We 
hed  a  lot  o'  raftsmen  here  las'  night, 
and  they  nigh  upon  tore  the  house 
down,  and  eat  us  clean  out.  Ain't 
got  no  accommodations  for  raftsmen, 
an'  don't  want  none." 

"But  we've  got  some  women  and 
children  here,  and  it's  too  late  to  go 
farther.  You  won't  have  any  trouble 
with  my  men ;  they  are  all  quiet  fel- 
lows ;  and  if  you  can't  give  us  supper, 
we'll  furnish  our  own  and  pay  you 
too." 


She  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then, 
stepping  back,  told  them  to  come  in 
and  not  leave  the  door  open  no  longer; 
despatched  two  of  the  tow -headed 
boys  for  wood ;  told  the  unwelcome 
guests  to  "  take  cheers  an'  make  them- 
selves to  hum;"  put  the  baby  in  the 
largest  girl's  arms;  sat  the  two  little 
ones  on  a  bench  with  a  force  that 
made  them  wink,  and  began  to  put  the 
room  in  order  with  such  a  clatter  and 
despatch  that  Mrs.  Morgan  sighed  for 
the  quiet  of  the  cold  cabin  they  had 
left. 

"Hello,  Bill!  Hello,  Jack!"  the 
woman  responded  to  their  "How  de 
do,  Mis'  Post  ?"  as  they  brought  the 
provision-boxes  and  blankets  into  the 
room. 

"Heerd  ye  ben  gittin'  ye  a  woman, 
Bill,"  she  said,  standing  the  splint 
broom  in  the  corner,  and  placing  her 
hands  on  her  hips,  as  she  stared  at 
Mrs.  Morgan  and  Bessie,  whose  face 
flushed  scarlet  with  indignation.  "Be 
either  o'  these  women  yourn  ?" 

He  laughed  as  he  answered, 

"  Pshaw !  who's  been  talking  such 
stuff  'bout  me?  That  lady  with  the 
blue  hood  on  is  Mis'  Morris,  goin'  to 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


71 


her  ol'  home  in  Jarsey ;  an'  the  other 
with  the  baby  is  Mis'  Morgan:  her 
husband  owns  the  best  lot  o'  land  an' 
timber  of  anybody  in  our  country; 
an'  ef  you  use  us  purty  well  to-night, 
you'll  git  a  good  many  shilliu's  out  o' 
us  fellows." 

"  Yes,  a  pinched  lot  o'  shillin's,  an' 
git  my  blankets  tore  up,  my  pillars 
bust  open,  an'  some  o'  my  best  crock- 
ery broke  to  smash !  I  tol'  Abe  las' 
night  that  the  fut  of  a  raftsman 
shouldn't  never  step  over  that  thar 
door-sill,  an'  here's  my  house  all  clat- 
tered full  o'  ye  agin." 

"  Land's  sake,  Mis'  Post,  ye  don't 
call  this  house  full  now,  do  ye  ?  Why, 
I've  seen  more  'n  fifty  men  layin' 
spread  out  on  this  floor  to  onct." 

Mrs.  Morgan  glanced  around  in  as- 
tonishment. The  fireplace  and  a  door 
each  side  of  it  filled  one  end  of  the 
room ;  a  curtained  recess,  with  a  pan- 
try on  one  side,  and  a  cupboard  on 
the  other,  filled  the  side  and  described 
the  size  of  the  room,  while  two  small 
uncurtained  windows  gave  sufficient 
light  to  show  the  bare,  mud-tracked 
floor,  pine  table,  two  long  benches, 
and  a  few  wooden -bottomed  chairs 
ranged  against  the  wall.  Some 
bright  tins  hung  over  the  cupboard 
reflecting  the  fire-light's  glow,  and 
strings  of  dried  apples  and  pumpkin 
festooned  the  ceiling. 

""Wall,  las'  fresh  we  had  a  hundred 
an'  four  to  supper.  Some  on  'em 
slept  in  the  barn,  an'  some  on  'em 
stayed  here  in  the  house.  I  wun't 
say  they  slept,  fur  they  didn't,  nor  no- 
body in  their  hearin'.  Sech  goin's  on 
nobody  never  seed  'fore  nor  sence.  I 
bet  they  hed  some  licker  'long  with 


'em.  I  don't  believe  fellers  could  a' 
carried  on  as  they  did  'thout  the 
devil  helped  'em.  Jake,  you  go  down 
cullar  and  git  a  panful  o'  taters;  an' 
don't  be  gone  all  night,  nuther.  Sail, 
gim.  me  that  young  un,  an'  you  go 
'long  an'  hoi'  th'  candle,  an'  git  a 
chunk  o'  pork." 

"Where's  Abe?"  Morris  asked,  af- 
ter the  fried  pork  and  boiled  potatoes 
were  placed  upon  the  table. 

"  I  dunno ;  heerd  a  raft  had  stuck 
at  Fiddler's  Elbow  this  forenoon,  an' 
guess  likely  he  went  up  to  git  a  job ; 
he  hain't  got  nothin'  to  dew  to  hum," 
and  she  laughed  sarcastically  as  she 
poured  the  tea  in  the  cracked  and 
grimy  cups,  and  placed  one  at  each 
plate,  before  the  benches  were  drawn 
up  to  the  table. 

The  outside  wrappings  of  the  wom- 
en and  children  had  been  removed, 
and  rolled  up  in  a  blanket  by  the 
thoughtful  Jack,  who  also  warmed  a 
cup  of  milk  for  Miriam,  using  the 
contents  of  the  provision-box  instead 
of  the  table.  Miriam  laughed  glee- 
fully to  see  her  own  china  mug  and 
spoon,  and  while  she  ate,  Jack  was 
again  busy  at  the  fire.  A  plate  of 
hot  buttered  toast  and  eggs  roasted 
in  the  shell  were  placed  on  a  chair 
by  Mrs.  Morgan,  who  excused  herself 
from  the  table  to  feed  babj1-,  and  with 
a  tin  cup  of  tea  she  made  a  comfort- 
able meal.  Her  husband  looked  an- 
noyed, and  their  hostess  muttered 
something  about  her  "vittles  not  be- 
in'  good  'nough  for  quality  folks ;" 
but  the  meal  was  soon  ended,  and 
preparations  for  bed  -  making  began. 
The  benches  and  tables  were  placed 
against  the  wall,  ticks  stuffed  with 


72 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


straw  were  brought  from  the  cham- 
ber above,  as  the  roof  leaked  too  bad- 
ly to  make  sleeping  there  agreeable, 
and  spread  upon  the  floor,  with  heavy 
blankets  for  covering. 

Morris  and  Jack  held  a  brief  consul- 
tation, and  as  Mrs.  Post  disappeared 
in  the  stairway,  they  seized  the  clean- 
est-looking tick  and  ran  out-of-doors, 
returning  before  she  appeared  with 
the  bed  newly  filled  with  fragrant 
hay.  They  swept  a  place  clean  for  it, 
and,  stretching  a  blanket  from  one 
chair -back  to  another,  made  a  low 
partition  between  this  bed  and  the 
others,  leaving  it  open  next  the  fire. 

"Now,  Bessie,"  said  Morris,  "you 
an'  Mis'  Morgan  can  have  a  middlin' 
decent  bed  ;  an'  ef  you'll  use  your 
shawls  for  blankets,  you'll  have  a  tol- 
erable comfortable  night.  Jack,  you 
an'  me  kin  bunk  on  this  side  th'  fire- 
place. Jamie,  you  an'  Davy  roll  your- 
selves up  in  this  big  cloak  an'  lay 
'long-side  o'  me.  Now,  then,  the  rest 
o'  ye  kin  go  whar  yer  a  mind  to." 

"Was  there  a  bit  of  malice  in  the 
plan  that  placed  Mr.  Morgan  against 
the  wall  ? 

The  trundle  -  bed  was  pulled  out, 
and  the  little  Posts  were  tucked 
away ;  the  talking  ceased ;  the  fire 
burned  low.  From  the  men's  beds 
came  prolonged  snores  ending  in  a 
gurgling  sound,  strangely  like  sup- 
pressed laughter,  as  Mr.  Morgan  toss- 
ed restlessly,  throwing  the  blankets 
from  him ;  then,  after  a  vigorous 
shake,  spreading  them  over  him  again. 
The  boys  cried  out  now  and  then, 
but  never  wakened;  and  inside  the 
curtained  bed  slumber  reigned  un- 
disturbed. Before  the  gray  dawn 


streamed  into  the  room  Mr.  Morgan's 
voice  aroused  them. 

"  Come,  come,  boys  !"  he  said,  care- 
fully brushing  his  clothes,  "  let's  pull 
out  from  here;  we'll  run  to  Shoemak- 
er's to  breakfast." 

"  I  don't  know  'bout  that,  Mister 
Morgan.  'Tain't  likely  we  could  land 
there  now,  an'  we'd  be  losin'  time  too. 
As  we  hed  such  a  good  sleep,  I  guess 
we'd  better  ask  Mis'  Post  to  give  us 
something  to  eat.  Les'  have  some 
eggs  boiled  in  the  shell  an'  some  fried 
ham.""  I  don't  want  any  pancakes ;  do 
you,  boys?  We'll  save  Mis'  Post  the 
bother  o'  bakin'  them,  an'  take  bread 
out  o'  the  dinner -box.  She'll  hev 
suthin'  cooked  while  we're  gettin' 
these  things  down  to  the  raft,  and 
some  dry  straw  into  the  cabin.  Guess 
't won't  rain  no  more.  Mis'  Morris, 
you  might  make  some  tea  in  that  big 
pot  o'  yourn  to  take  out  t'  th'  raft." 

The  beds  were  thrown  in  a  heap  in 
a  corner;  the  table  drawn  out;  the 
breakfast  swallowed ;  and  they  were 
off  again.  The  stars  glimmered  faint- 
ly through  the  clouds  that,  radiant 
with  welcome,  were  hurrying  to  meet 
the  god  of  day.  The  moon  had  paled, 
and  was  fading  away;  the  sky  glow- 
ed, the  river  sparkled,  the  foliage  glit- 
tered above  and  around  them. 

"  Oh,  mother !"  exclaimed  Jamie,  his 
face  reflecting  the  rapt  look  of  her 
own,  "  this  is  a  new  day  !" 

"Yes,  my  son,  fresh  from  God's 
hand." 

The  loud  voices  of  the  men  jarred 
the  sweet  stillness  of  the  morn ;  and 
the  baby's  eyes  opened  wide  with 
wonder  on  the  unfamiliar  scene. 

"'A    sea    of   glass    mingled    with 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


fire;'  'A  pure  river  of  water  clear 
as  crystal,' "  murmured  Mrs.  Morgan. 
;'  What  a  glorious,  beautiful  world  it 
is  !  and,  oh,  what  disgusting  creatures 
in  it  !" 

"  Toots,  mem !  I'm  thinkin'  we  es- 
caped weel.  Deed  noo,  ef  we  were 
born  an'  bred  in  a'  that  filth  an'  deesti- 
tution,  wad  we  be  like  her,  think  ye  ?" 
with  a  backward  gesture  toward  the 
douse  still  visible. 

"Born  in  and  of  it  —  why,  I  sup- 
pose we  would,  Bessie — and  yet  I  don't 
snow.  It  seems  as  if  I  would  grow 
Dut  of  it,  and  above  it.  I  do  not  think 
:he  real  me  would  settle  down  in 
such  squalor,  into  whatever  body  or 
circumstances  I  was  placed ;  could 
you  ?" 

"I  dinna  ken,  mem  ;  but  I  hae  mair 
;o  be  thankfu'  for  than  I  e'er  kent 
ifore."  And,  wrapping  Miriam  in  a 
shawl,  she  walked  up  and  down  the 
•aft,  studying  a  new  problem.  The 
lay,  so  fresh  and  fair  at  its  beginning, 
];rew  wearisome,  and  the  boys  beg- 
ged to  be  set  ashore,  confident  they 
iould  outrun  the  raft  gliding  so  mo- 
lotonously  along.  Their  ship  was  a 
svrcck,  their  fish-lines  broken,  the  sun- 
shine hot,  the  wind  chilling,  the  glare 
Dn  the  water  distressing,  and  the  cab- 
in too  damp  to  sit  in  Avith  comfort. 
Hie  hills  and  trees,  the  villages  and 
farms,  had  lost  their  charms  to  the 
boys,  accustomed  to  so  large  a  play- 
ground and  an  endless  variety  of 
amusements.  But  babe  Miriam  was 
perfectly  content  in  her  rustic  cradle, 
a,  handful  of  straw  and  a  piece  of  rav- 
elled rope  for  playthings.  Bessie  sat 
on  a  pile  of  lumber,  knitting,  and  fan- 
cying the  blissful  meeting  with  the 


loved  ones  at  home.  And  Mrs.  Mor- 
gan, with  a  bit  of  paper  resting  on 
her  Bible,  pencilled  thoughts  which 
had  long  waited  this  leisure  for  ex- 
pression. 

"  Coming  to  th'  Gap  purty  soon ;  it's 
jest  below  this  rift,"  Jack  announced, 
and  the  boys  looked  eagerly  ahead  to 
see  the  mountains  yawn  at  their  ap- 
proach, while  Mrs.  Morgan  and  Bessie, 
anticipating  a  rapid  current  rushing 
through  a  narrow  gorge,  were  glad  to 
pass*  before  the  sunlight  was  gone. 
The  mountains  were  flooded  with  glo- 
ry, the  river  reflecting  every  curve, 
rock,  tree,  and  every  tint  of  foliage, 
as  in  a  mirror. 

"  There's  the  Gap  !" 

No  yawning  chasm,  no  boiling  cal- 
dron, was  there ;  only  a  perpendicular 
wall  of  rock  on  either  side  reaching 
up  into  the  cloudless  sky,  and  the 
river  winding  gently  between,  clear 
and  calm  as  a  lake.  Every  eye  was 
lifted  in  silent  wonder  at  the  power 
which  had  cleft  this  mighty  mountain 
in  twain. 

"Nothin'  but  ice  could  have  tore 
things  up  so,"  Morris  announced.  An' 
then  that  stun-heap  on  the  Pennsyl- 
van'a  shore — acres  and  acres  o'  round 
stun,  all  rounded  and  pounded  up — 
'twas  ice  done  that.  Them  stun  got 
froze  in  a-comin'  along  down — some 
started  from  Beaverkill,  an'  some  far- 
ther up  —  an'  they  wus  turned  over 
an'  over,  an'  rounded  off,  an'  gi-ound 
down,  an'  got  smooth  as  pebbles ;  an' 
they  piled  up  an'  piled  up  agin  this 
yer  mountain,  an'  the  water  biled  an' 
surged  till  suthin'  giv'  way,  an'  then 
— through  they  come  !  an'  the  water 
swashed  'em  up  on  that  thai*  shore, 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


an'  thar  they  be  yit.  Golly  !  I'd  like 
to  been  where  I  could  a'  seen  it  done. 
Now,  ain't  that  a  purty  picter,  after 
all  them  mountains  an'  rocks  ?" 

Like  the  lifting  of  a  curtain,  the 
scene  had  changed.  A  wide  valley 
stretched  out  on  either  side ;  with 
orchards  and  fields,  farm  -  houses  and 
barns,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach. 

"  Mother  " — Jamie's  hand  nestled  in 
her  own — "  mother,  it  looks  like  an- 
other world !  just  as  if  we  had  left 
the  rough  workday  world  behind  us, 
and  that"  —  pointing  to  the  sunlit 
valley  before  them — "that  was  Sun- 
day." 

A  tall,  well-dressed  man  stood  upon 
the  shore,  and  as  the  raft  grated  upon 
the  pebbly  beach  he  sprung  on  board 
and  clasped  Mrs.  Morgan  in  his  arms. 

"  Oh,  David  !  Oh,  my  brother !" 
And  the  glad  tears  sprung  to  her 
eyes.  "Ho \vdid  you  get  here?  How 
did  you  know  I  was  coming  ?" 

"  I  have  expected  you  at  every  rise 
of  the  river  since  you  went  into  exile, 
little  sister.  Glad  to  see  you,  John. 
This  is  Mistress  Morris,  I  am  sure," 
shaking  hands  with  each.  "  Well, 
boys,  have  you  forgotten  Uncle  Dave  ? 
I've  grown  gray  since  you  saw  me, 
haven't  I?"  taking  them  in  his  arms— 
"  and  you  have  grown  heavy.  Back- 
woods life  agrees  with  you,  evidently. 
And  here's  my  only  niece;  bless  her 
little  heart !  not  a  bit  afraid  of  her 
uncle.  Why,  Mary,  she's  a  perfect 
beauty!  How  did  I  get  here?  I  came 
up  on  a  Durham  boat.  I  was  tired  of 
the  city,  and  the  supercargo  of  this 
boat  being  sick,  I  concluded  to  take  a 
trading  voyage,  meet  you,  maybe,  and 
have  a  good  time.  I've  been  here  be- 


fore, hunting  and  fishing;  grand  coun- 
try, isn't  it  ?  but  very  rough." 

"  Rough  ?  Oh,  David,  come  up  to 
our  place  !  What  would  he  call  that, 
John  ?" 

"A  better  country  for  hunting  and 
fishing  than  this.  But  come ;  let's 
get  ashore.  We've  stopped  here  for  a 
load  of  slate,  and  will  stay  till  morn- 
ing." 

"Ah,  I'm  glad  of  that,  for  so  do  I ; 
and,  Mary,  I  want  you  to  change  con- 
veyances and  finish  the  journey  on  a 
Durham  boat.  I  saw  you  before  you 
reached  the  foot  of  the  rift,  and  was 
about  to  board  your  craft  and  capture 
you,  when  I  saw  your  raft  preparing 
to  land.  There  is  a  comfortable  inn 
here,"  he  said,  as  they  ascended  the 
hill,  "and  there  are  several  places 
worth  seeing.  Is  your  home  near 
here,  Mistress  Morris  ?" 

"Ah,  sir,  I  wad  it  were  !  I'm  weel 
wearied  o'  the  raft;  but  my  hame  is 
anither  day's  journey  ayon." 

"If  Mr.  Morgan  is  willing  I  should 
go  on  the  boat  with  my  brother;  you 
will  go  too,  won't  you,  Bessie  ?" 

"Ah,  mem,  I'm  unco  sweir  to  leave 
Willy  an'  gang  to  the  auld  hoose 
alane." 

The  rest  of  the  day  was  spent  in 
examining  the  Cold  Air  Cave  and  the 
Echo  ;  enjoying  the  magnificent  scen- 
ery from  Mount  Minsi ;  watching  the 
men  load  the  raft  with  slate  from  the 
quarries,  and  inspecting  the  Durham 
boat,  which  was  taking  in  a  cargo  of 
butter,  cheese,  honey,  grain,  and  vege- 
tables for  the  Philadelphia  market.  It 
was  a  queer-looking  craft,  some  sixty 
feet  long,  with  oars  at  least  a  third 
that  length,  a  plank  walk  for  the  row- 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


ers  on  deck,  and  a  rude  cabin  below. 
A  ballast  of  slate,  and  barrels  of  cider 
and  flour,  were  already  in  the  hold  ; 
and  upon  the  deck  were  heaps  of 
pumpkins  and  cabbages,  with  a  con- 
fused mass  of  Yankee  notions  and 
dry-goods  for  which  a  group  of  farm- 
ers were  bargaining.  The  dread  of 
going  through  tide-water  on  a  raft, 
and  the  pleasure  of  having  her  broth- 
er's company,  decided  Mrs.  Morgan 
to  take  the  boat  for  the  rest  of  the 
journey,  and  Mr. "Walton  accompanied 
Morris  to  the  raft  to  consult  her  hus- 
band. 

"  They're  loadin'  them  rafts  too  fur 
for'ard,"  Bill  said,  as  they  walked 
down  the  stony  road.  He  found  Mr. 
Morgan  directing  the  men  to  put  a 
tier  of  slate  still  nearer  the  ends  of 
the  raft.  "  Mister  Morgan,"  he  called, 
"  you're  a-loadin'  them  rafts  too  heavy 
arid  too  fur  for'ard  !" 

"I've  contracted  to  take  that  pile 
of  slate,  and  it's  got  to  go  on  these 
rafts.  The  middle  is  under  water 
now,  and  the  rest  of  the  slate  must  go 
on  the  ends." 

"I  suppose  you  know  the  river  is 
fallin',  an'  Foul  Rift  and  Wells's  is 
ahead." 

"  Well,  well,  if  you're  afraid  to  steer 
them  when  loaded,  I  can  find  a  man 
who  is  not ;  and  I  shall  use  my  own 
judgment  about  the  loading.  These 
rafts  are  not  moving  now,  Bill." 

"All  right,  sir;  you  hev  more  at 
stake  than  I  hev.  I  guess  I'll  git  off 
at  Upper  Black's.  Bessie  wants  me 
to  go  home  with  her;  so  'f  you  kin 
find  a  steersman  to  suit  ye,  you'd  bet- 
ter git  one." 

In  the  early  morning  the  rafts  pull- 


ed out.  The  Durham  boat  started 
an  hour  later,  but,  aided  by  pushing 
poles,  it  overtook  and  passed  them  at 
the  head  of  Foul  Rift.  The  "  good- 
byes" were  waved  and  shouted  to 
the  mother  and  her  three  children  as 
they  ran  quickly  by  the  raft ;  but  the 
roaring  water  just  ahead  attracted 
all  eyes  to  the  coming  danger.  The 
oarsmen  each  took  an  immense  bite 
from  the  plug  of  tobacco  they  shared 
between  them,  grasped  their  poles 
tightly,  braced  their  feet  firmly,  and 
were  ready. 

"Those  rocks  are  called  Harrow- 
teeth,  and  that  reef  of  rock  'The 
Wing,'  Mr.  Walton  shouted ;  "  many 
rafts  dive  as  they  go  over  that ;  and 
the  other  is  'The  Foamer.'"  The 
water  boiled  over  it  in  a  roaring 
wave,  and  went  seething  and  foaming 
below.  "Those  black  rocks  on  the 
left  cause  many  a  wreck." 

"  Oh,  the  raft !"  screamed  the  boys; 
"  they'll  go  all  to  pieces  !"  and  Jamie 
hid  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"  Oh,  don't  be  frightened,  they  will 
get  through  all  right;  two  steersmen 
and  a  captain  aboard,"  Mr.  Walton 
laughed,  assuringly ;  but  his  eyes  were 
also  fixed  on  the  raft,  which  came 
rushing  through  the  water  at  race- 
horse speed,  dashing  the  spray  over 
the  slate  on  which  Morris  and  his 
wife  were  standing.  He  had  resign- 
ed his  oar  to  the  new  steersman,  yet 
would  have  sprung  to  his  assistance 
but  for  Bessie's  frightened  face  and 
pleading  eyes.  The  raft  ran  a  few 
inches  to  the  right,  and  the  forward 
end  grazed  a  rock,  throwing  the  other 
end  dangerously  near  the  rocks  on 
the  Pennsylvania  shore. 


76 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


"  Jersey  !"  screamed  the  steersman  ; 
and  the  men,  with  the  strength  excite- 
ment alone  can  give,  pulled  the  raft 
away  from  the  threatened  danger. 

"  Holt !  holt !"  cried  the  steersman, 
"  t'other  way  !  Pennsylvan'a !" 

Too  late.  The  raft  went  over  the 
reef  with  "a  pint  to  Jersey,"  dove, 
one  end  struck  the  bottom,  and  the 
two  rafts  parted  company  with  a 
crash,  a  shower  of  broken  slate,  and  a 
babel  of  yells. 

Morris  and  Bessie,  the  steersman, 
and  one  man  were  left  on  the  raft 
that  kept  the  channel,  and  reached  the 
smooth  waters  below.  But  Mr.  Mor- 
gan, Jack,  and  the  other  men  were 
left  in  a  dangerous  situation ;  their 
stoven  raft  darted  toward  the  Black 
Rocks  that  looked  like  huge  teeth  in 
the  frothing  mouth  of  a  devouring 
monster. 

"  Les'  swing  'er !"  yelled  Jack. 
"Cross  pull!  'Hind  han's,  Jarsey ! 
Pennsylvan'a,  Tom !" 

The  raft  swung  around.  Before  it 
readied  the  rock,  Jack  unshipped  and 
drew  in  his  oar  in  time  to  save  it,  and 
ran  back  to  the  middle  of  the  raft  as 
it  mounted  high  upon  the  rocks,  then 
swung  off  with  a  large  loss  of  slate 
and  considerable  lumber.  With  hard 
pulling  they  succeeded  in  getting 
their  shattered  raft  through  to  the 
smooth  waters  below  the  rift,  where 
Morris  had  already  tied  the  other. 

"  Oh,  please  do  stop  and  take  Bes- 
sie on  !"  said  Mrs.  Morgan.  "  I  know 
ehe  is  nearly  wild  with  fright." 

"  What  say  you,  Jones  ?  Do  you 
tli ink  we  can  take  two  more  passen- 
gers for  a  day?"  Mr.  Walton  inquired. 

"I    reckon    so,"    said    the    pilot. 


"They've  got  to  raft  over  now.  I 
tol'  Jake  he'd  never  get  that  double 
raft  over  the  Wing,  with  such  a  load, 
'thout  divin'.  Big  Bill  might  a'  done 
it,  for  he'd  got  the  hang  o'  the  raft, 
an'  knows  his  men.  A  pull  too  much 
is  as  bad  as  no  pull,  in  that  crooked 
channel.  Hold  her  stiddy,  boys,  till 
we  find  out  what  Bill's  going  to  do. 
No  use  landing  fur  nothing." 

But  Bessie  had  decided  to  remain 
at  a  farm-house  near,  while  Morris  as- 
sisted in  picking  up  the  lumber,  which 
would  take  the  remainder  of  the  day. 
He  conveyed  this  decision  to  them  by 
his  gestures  and  stentorian  voice ;  and 
the  Durham  again  started  down  the 
stream. 

"Who  is  that  manly -looking  boy 
who  saved  the  raft  ?"  inquired  Mr. 
Walton,  as  he  walked  up  and  down 
the  deck  with  Miriam  in  his  arms. 

"That  is  Jack,"  the  boys  answered. 
"He's  just  the  best  fellow  ever  lived, 
'cept  Bill." 

"Your  up-river  men  are  not  a  bad 
kind,  if  these  are  specimens;  but 
raftsmen  in  the  city  are  as  rough  and 
wild  as  untamed  bears,  and  more 
noisy." 

"I  cannot  imagine  Morris  or  Jack 
acting  like  rowdies,"  Mrs.  Morgan  an- 
swered. "  Jack  only  needs  education 
to  make  a  noble,  useful  man.  He  is 
devoted  to  the  children,  which  perhaps 
makes  me  partial  to  him.  Where's 
Jack,  Mira  ?" 

The  little  girl  turned  and  looked 
on  every  side.  "  Wha'  Zack  ?"  she 
said.  It  was  her  first  intelligible  ut- 
terance, and  was  received  with  delight 
by  her  mother,  and  shouts  of  applause 
from  the  boys.  Pleased  with  her  sue- 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


cess,  the  child  tried  to  imitate  other 
words ;  and  before  her  eyes  closed  for 
the  noonday  nap,  she  called  her  broth- 
ers by  name,  and  made  several  amus- 
ing attempts  to  say,  "Unty  Dave." 

The  long  -  separated  brother  and 
sister  found  much  to  talk  about  in 
the  long,  fair  day,  while  the  children 
amused  themselves  about  the  boat. 
No  common  rift  attracted  their  atten- 
tion after  Foul  Rift.  The  City  of 
Easton — the  new  steamboat — brought 
them  from  their  cabin  as  it  went  puff- 
ing by.  Queer  Water,  with  its  whirl- 
ing, boiling  waves,  and  Haycocks, 
where  the  water  leaps  over  huge 
bowlders,  were  scarcely  noticed.  Dur- 
ham, where  the  boat  was  built,  re- 
ceived but  a  sleepy  glance;  and  after 
a  promise  that  they  should  be  called 
in  time  to  see  the  boat  go  through 
Wells's,  they  crept  into  the  narrow 
berths,  where  their  sister  was  already 
Bleeping. 

Skilfully  guided  through  the  rap- 
ids, and  urged  through  the  slack  wa- 
ters, the  boat  glided  smoothly  and 
swiftly  by  the  low,  level  shores, 
where  twinkling  lights  revealed  the 
unseen  dwellings.  The  bark  of  a  dog 
borne  across  the  waters,  and  the  faint, 
sweet  sound  of  a  violin  ebbing  and 
flowing  on  the  breeze,  seemed  floating 
to  their  ears  from  a  far-distant  world. 
Above  them  came  the  stars  one  by 
one,  only  paler  and  colder  than  the 
earth -stars  that  flickered  and  glim- 
mered from  the  homes  on  either  side. 

"Are  they  not  both  promises  of  rest 
and  peace?"  thought  Mary  Morgan; 
"only  the  lower  lights  will  go  out 
by-and-by,  while  the  lights  above  will 
last  forever !  This  seems  so  like  a 


dream,  brother,"  she  said,  "  as  though 
we  had  left  the  shore  of  Time,  and 
were  floating  away  into  Eternity.  All 
the  past  seems  as  near  as  yesterday." 

He  drew  her  to  him  with  caressing 
arm ;  but  no  words  were  spoken  until 
through  the  white  mist,  like  a  sudden 
glory,  shone  the  radiant  moon.  Each 
tiny  ripple  in  the  water  caught  its 
gleam ;  dim  outlines  of  hills  were  re- 
vealed, and  quaint  shadows  of  mast 
and  fluttering  sail  lay  on  the  deck. 
The  distant  roar  of  water,  and  sharp, 
emphatic  orders  of  the  pilot  aroused 
Mrs.  Morgan  from  a  dreamy  reverie, 
and  brought  the  boys  from  their 
berths  below  to  her  side. 

"Is  that  Wells's?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  pilot,  "and  you 
boys  must  keep  out  of  the  way.  I 
reckon  there'll  be  trouble  with  that 
raft  ahead,  Mr.  Walton.  They're  at 
least  twenty  foot  too  far  Jersey,  and 
there  ain't  a  inch  to  go  on  with  that 
sized  raft.  Some  fool  of  an  up-river 
steersman  trying  to  run  through 
Wells's  by  moonlight,  and  with  a  fleet 
full  sixty  foot  wide  !" 

"I  thought  they  always  hired  reg- 
ular Wells's  steersmen  to  take  them 
over  the  falls." 

"They  used  to;  but  lately  some  of 
'em  have  steered  light  rafts  through. 
And  I  s'pose  this  steersman  thinks  he 
can  see  as  well  to-night  as  in  the  day- 
time; but  moonlight  is  deceiving. 
Ah  !  he  sees  his  mistake,  and  is  trying 
to  pull  over;  don't  believe  he  can 
pass  the  entering  rock,  though.  There 
she  goes!  just  as  I  expected!  Now 
she's  swinging  right  across  the  chan- 
nel !  Blame  the  up-river  fool !  Boys, 
we've  got  to  squeeze  through  Jarsey 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


of  the  entering  rock.  Keep  your  ears 
open  an'  yer  eyes  peeled.  Jarsey ! 
holt!  Jim,  look  out  for  those  loose 
logs  —  they'll  punch  a  hole  in  us  if 
they  strike !  Mr.  Walton,  take  that 
pole,  will  you,  and  help  me,  so  I  can 
send  another  man  for'ard?  Be  ready 
at  the  word  to  lift  'er  round.  Jarsey 
— stiddy  —  holt,  for'ard  !  This  way, 
Bill !  quick — straighten  'er  up !  Holt ! 
There,  now  we're  all  right;  but  'twixt 
logs  and  rocks  it  looked  squally  for  a 
minute." 

"  Well,  I  thought  we's  a  goner !" 
said  Davy.  "We  did  go  against  a 
rock,  Uncle  Dave,  didn't  we  ?" 

"  No ;  but  a  big  rock  ran  right  up 
the  river  and  gave  our  boat  a  punch 
in  the  side :  I  saw  it.  Now  the  show 
is  over,  we  had  better  turn  in.  The 
fog  is  rising,  and  we  may  have  to  an- 
chor till  daylight.  So  good-night." 

The  morning  mist  was  rising,  and 
the  spires  of  New  Jersey's  capital 
were  seen  by  the  boys'  eager  eyes,  as 
they  tumbled  up  the  steep  stairway 
to  the  deck. 

"  Oh,  mother !"  Jamie  called,  as  she 
too  followed  Mr.  Walton  and  Miriam 
from  the  cabin  into  the  fresh  air  of 
the  cool  gray  morning,  "  you  said  you 
would  show  us  where  Washington 
crossed  the  Delaware." 

"  What  do  you  know  about  Wash- 
ington ?"  his  uncle  asked,  laughingly. 
"  Did  you  vote  for  him,  last  election, 
out  your  way  ?" 

"No,  sir-ee,  we  didn't !"  exclaimed 
Davy,  "  'cause  he's  dead :  and  we 
know  lots  about  him.  Once  his  pa 
gave  him  a  hatchet,  an'  he  went  to 
cuttin'  down  trees;  and  his  pa  got 
mad  about  it,  an'  said  he'd  just  like 


to  catch  the  boy  what  done  it ;  an' 
'cause  George  couldn't  tell  a  lie,  he 
had  to  own  up.  Now,  what's  the  rea- 
son he  couldn't  tell  a  lie  if  he  wanted 
to,  Uncle  Dave  ?  An'  what  did  his  pa 
give  him  a  hatchet  for,  if  he  didn't 
want  him  to  cut  down  trees?  That's 
jest  what  I'd  like  to  know  !" 

"I  give  it  up;"  and  Mr.  Walton 
threw  up  his  hands  and  rolled  his 
eyes  iu  mock  despair.  "  You  mustn't 
ask  me  any  such  conundrums,  boy; 
they're  too  much  for  me.  I  don't 
know  Avhy  that  first  apple-tree  ever 
grew  that  has  caused  us  all  so  much 
toil  and  trouble.  But  I  rather  think 
the  reason  why  George  Washington 
couldn't  tell  a  lie  was  because  it 
seemed  like  a  mean  thing  to  do,  and 
he'd  rather  take  a  thrashing  than  be 
a  liar.  Hadn't  you  ?" 

"Course;  if  my  pa'd  say  jus'  as  his 
did,  *  Come  to  my  arms,  my  son !'  an' 
hug  an'  kiss  him,  an'  maybe  let  him 
ride  his  horse  to  water;  but — " 

"David,"  called  Mrs.  Morgan,  who 
was  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  boat 
with  Jamie,  pointing  out  objects  of 
interest  they  were  passing,  "what 
was  Philadelphia  called  by  the 
Dutch?" 

"  Coalquanock ;  it  was  only  a  ham- 
let then.  Now,  don't  ask  me  what  it 
means,  for  I  don't  know ;  but  I  learn- 
ed a  funny  thing  the  other  day  about 
the  place  where  my  wife  is  stopping — 
Penn  Yan.  It  is  one  of  the  plcasant- 
est  little  villages  I  ever  saw,  nestled 
in  a  valley  and  near  a  lake.  Well,  it 
got  its  name  from  being  settled  by 
two  families,  one  from  our  own  State, 
and  one  from  New  England.  They 
took  the  first  syllables  from  their 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


old  locations  and  joined  them.  Now 
where  were  they  from,  Jamie  ?  There's 
a  puzzle  for  you." 

"But,  David,  isn't  your  wife  at 
homo  ?" 

"No,  she  is  not,  Mary,  and  has 
not  been  since  June.  She  has  a  lot 
of  fashionable  folks  around  her  who 
make  our  house  a  place  to  dance  and 
feast  in  all  winter;  and  then  whisk 
its  mistress  away  in  the  early  summer 
to  recuperate  by  dancing  and  feasting 
in  some  other  place.  She  spent  sev- 
eral weeks  at  Cape  May;  then  went 
to  Niagara,  and  is  now  at  Penn  Yan. 
However,  I  have  a  good  house-keeper, 
and  a  carriage  with  as  pretty  and 
gentle  a  span  of  ponies  as  can  be 


found  this  side  of  Kentucky ;  and  we 
are  going  to  have  a  thoroughly  good 
time  together.  Besides  the  State- 
house,  where  the  Declaration  of  In- 
dependence was  signed;  the  Mint, 
where  our  money  is  made;  the  mar- 
ket, where  the  catfish  and  cauliflower 
I  promised  you  are  exhibited,  and 
the  Arcade,  or  Peale's  Museum,  there 
is  a  very  fine  panorama  on  exhibition. 
Boys,  don't  you  want  to  go  to  Jeru- 
salem? Very  well,  I  will  take  you 
where  the  whole  city  is  spread  out 
before  you,  as  though  you  stood  on  a 
hill  and  looked  down  at  the  people  in 
the  streets. — Caught  the  ebb-tide  all 
right,  haven't  we,  Jones  ?  Now  we 
will  soon  reach  the  city." 


CHAPTER  XL 


"And  she  would  talk  so  weirdly  wild, 
And  grow  upon  your  wonderings 
As  though  her  stature  rose  on  wings, 
And  you  forgot  she  was  a  child." 

GERALD  MASSE Y. 


THREE  years  glided  by,  and  again 
autumn  had  come.  Few  changes  had 
been  made  in  the  settlement  on  the 
river-bank;  but  near  the  mill  Morris 
had  built  a  home  for  his  wife  and 
baby  boy,  and  a  mile  away  a  school- 
house  was  nearly  completed. 

Little  Miriam— a  healthy,  happy 
child,  the  idol  of  her  mother,  the  play- 
mate of  her  brothers,  and  the  pet  of 
the  whole  neighborhood  —  sat  upon 
the  cottage  steps  one  balmy  morning, 
singing.  Her  bright  flossy  curls  were 
floating  in  the  wind,  and  her  faithful 
guardian,  Bruce,  a  large  gray  mastiff, 
stood  by  her  side.  Jamie  had  been 
sent  by  his  father  to  collect  a  store 
debt  from  a  farmer  ten  miles  away, 
and  Davy  was  assisting  Fred  in  the 
store ;  for  this  was  Saturday,  and  the 
folks  from  all  the  country  around  had 
come  to  trade  the  produce  of  dairy 
and  farm  for  groceries  and  clothes. 
Within  the  cottage  the  sound  of  beat- 
ing eggs  and  the  odor  of  pumpkin-pies 
proved  that  the  mother's  hands  and 
thoughts  were  fully  employed.  Maid 
Miriam  grew  restless. 

"Ets  do  some'rs  an'  do  somefin  !" 


Bruce  wagged  his  tail  approving- 
ly. She  glanced  at  the  mill,  but  that 
was  forbidden  ground;  at  the  house 
above  it,  but  Robin  always  slept  at 
this  hour,  and  Bessie  would  not  let 
him  be  wakened.  Then  she  looked 
toward  the  woods — the  very  thing — 
"  Ets  have  a  pitnit !  I  det  some  eats ;" 
and  the  merry  little  girl  ran  into  the 
house,  seized  a  basket  which  Bruce 
had  been  taught  to  carry,  put  a  hand- 
ful of  cookies  and  her  tin  cup  in  it. 
"  Dess  doiu'  itta  ways,"  she  informed 
her  mother,  and  was  gone  like  a  flash. 

Mrs.  Morgan  hastened  to  skim  the 
pan  of  milk  she  was  holding,  and  then 
went  to  the  'kitchen  door.  ^Neither 
child  nor  dog  was  in  sight. 

"She  is  gone  to  see  Davy,  dear  lit- 
tle trudge,"  she  said. 

The  bread  was  ready  for  baking, 
the  cream  waited  to  be  churned,  the 
kitchen  floor  must  be  scrubbed,  and 
dinner  prepared;  one  duty  following 
another,  until  noon  came,  bringing  the 
men  from  their  work,  and  Davy  from 
the  store. 

"Where's  your  sister  ?"  Mrs.  Mor- 
gan inquired. 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


81 


UI  don't  know ;  haven't  seen  her 
since  breakfast:  probably  she's  at 
Morris's.  She  never  goes  far,  and 
Bruce  is  with  her;  so  she's  safe 
enough  from  snakes  and  cattle.  I'll 
look  her  up  after  dinner." 

A  load  of  impatient  customers  call- 
ed Davy  from  the  table  before  his 
dinner  was  eaten,  and  kept  him  busy 
for  an  hour.  Supposing  he  had  found 
and  left  the  child  with  Bessie,  Mrs. 
Morgan  finished  her  Saturday's  work ; 
then,  putting  on  her  bonnet,  she  cross- 
ed the  brook  and  tapped  at  Mrs.  Mor- 
ris's open  door.  To  her  surprise,  little 
Miriam  had  not  been  there  that  day; 
neither  was  she  at  the  mill,  riding  on 
the  "  carriage  "  that  carried  the  log  to 
and  from  the  flashing  saw ;  nor  at  the 
store  cnrled  up  under  the  counter, 
looking  at  the  blue  and  yellow  cover- 
ed primers.  She  must  have  gone  in 
the  woods;  and  the  mother,  anxious 
but  not  frightened,  hurried  up  the 
mountain  side. 

Meantime,  the  tiny  maiden  was 
trudging  over  the  stony  road,  her 
white  sun-bonnet  shading  her  laugh- 
ing eyes,  one  dimpled  hand  holding 
the  flowers  she  had  gathered,  and  the 
other  grasping  Bruce's  shaggy  mane. 

"  We's  havin'  fun,  we  is,"  she  re- 
marked, confidentially,  to  the  dog. 
"  Nuffin'  hurts  ws,  tause  we's  dood. 
See  !  da's  a  pitty  snake,"  and  she  let 
go  of  the  dog  to  pick  it  up. 

Bruce  dropped  the  basket,  gave  a 
sudden  spring,  caught  the  snake,  and 
with  a  dexterous  jerk  threw  it  out- 
side the  pathway.  The  child  laughed 
merrily,  pronounced  the  motionless 
reptile  "Fas'  asleep;"  and  as  Bruce 
picked  up  the  basket,  the  two  walked 
6 


on — one  conscious  of  duty  performed, 
and  elate  with  victory;  the  other  as 
unconscious  of  innocence  as  of  guilt ; 
feeling  only  the  joy  of  vitality  within 
and  around  her. 

The  light  of  every  sunrise  and  ev- 
ery sunset  was  condensed  in  the  foli- 
age of  the  forest.  Here  and  there  a 
lusty  hemlock  stood  as  though  ex- 
claiming, "  No  time  -  server  I.  "We 
evergreens  absorb  and  transmute  the 
sunlight  of  every  season  into  unfad- 
ing verdure." 

Little  Miriam  stood  breathless  on 
the  hillside,  and  looked  around  her. 
At  her  right,  a  little  brook  leaped 
from  the  summit  of  a  pile  of  mossy 
rocks,  and  bubbled  and  foamed  over 
the  rocks  below.  At  her  left,  emerald 
ferns  and  golden-rod  mingled;  while 
from  trees  above,  the  gold  and  crim- 
son of  a  summer's  radiance  fluttered 
to  her  feet.  Birds  warbled  as  in 
spring-time;  insects  danced  merrily 
in  the  sunlit  air ;  squirrels  frisked  and 
chattered  over  the  nut-strewn  ground. 

"  Oh  !  oh  !"  the  child  exclaimed,  in 
rapture.  "  B'uce,  see  !  Oh,  pitty  ! 
pitty !" 

But  Bruce  had  no  eyes  nor  ears  for 
the  beauty  which  thrilled  the  child's 
soul  with  ecstasy.  A  rabbit  flashed 
across  the  road ;  the  basket  was  drop- 
ped, and  the  dog  gone,  crushing  the 
ferns  and  daisies,  trampling  the  brill- 
iant leaves,  pulling  down  the  velvet 
moss  which  grew  on  the  wayside 
rocks. 

"  B'uce,  B'uce,  turn  bat  he'e,"  called 
his  mistress,  "  turn  wight  he'e !" 

"  Here  I  am,"  said  a  voice  behind 
her.  "  By  Jove,  you're  a  little  beau- 
ty !  isn't  she, major?" 


82 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


"I  should  say  so!  What's  your 
name,  little  one?" 

The  child  stepped  back  and  viewed 
the  strangers  curiously,  but  made  no 
reply. 

"  Where  did  you  come  from  ?" 

"I  turn  Tom  my  home,"  she  said, 
with  dignity. 

The  men  -laughed. 

"And  who  do  you  belong  to?" 

"  I  b'yong  to  mysef." 

"  Indeed ;  whose  land  is  this  ?" 

"Mine,"  she  said.  "B'uce,  you 
turn  he'e !" 

The  dog  sprung  from  the  rocks 
above  to  the  road,  and,  with  a  threat- 
ening growl  at  the  strangers,  stood 
beside  the  child. 

"So  this  is  the  Bruce  you  called," 
said  the  boy  who  had  first  spoken. 
"Bruce  is  my  name.  Won't  you  tell 
me  yours?" 

The  little  girl  looked  at  him  with 
the  grave,  critical  air  children  some- 
times assume;  then,  her  expression 
changing  into  mirthful  mischief,  she 
said, 

"  I  is  Bairdy  Fissledown." 
.  "Birdy  Thistledown!     Well,  upon 
my  word  you  are  well  named.     Are 
you  a  fairy  ?" 

«'Es,sa." 

"I  thought  so;  and  Bruce  is  a 
human  you  have  bewitched  into  a 
dog?" 

"'Es,sa." 

Her  eyes  were  sparkling* with  de- 
light, her  whole  form  quivering  with 
excitement. 

"Say^  major,  let's  sit  down  and  rest 
a  while.  Perhaps  this  birdy  will  give 
us  some  music  of  fairy-land." 

"Take    care    she    don't    bewitch 


Bruce  number  two.  If  she  were  a 
few  years  older,  I  wouldn't  risk  it. 
The  settlement  cannot  be  more  than 
a  mile  away,  and  I'm  going  on." 

"All  right.  I'll  be  at  the  store  in 
half  an  hour,"  the  boy  answered. 

"  Come,  Birdy  Thistledown,  let  me 
lift  you  on  this  rock;  and  I'll  lie 
down  here  in  the  moss  and  look  at 
you.  Now,  will  you  sing  ?" 

"I  dess  I  'peak  a  piece,  faist,"  she 
said  ;  and  standing  upon  the  rock,  her 
bonnet  pushed  back,  the  blushes  glow- 
ing and  fading  in  her  dimpled  cheeks, 
the  hands  demurely  clasped,  she  be- 
gan, 

"  Ma'e  ad  a  ittle  yam  ; 

Its  f'eece  wad  w'ite  ns  slmow, 
An'  eva'wha'  'at  Ma'e  went 

De  yam  was  su'e  to  do. 
It  fahaid  ha'  to  'cool  one  day — '' 

very  slowly  the  words  were  pro- 
nounced, as  though  stepping  carefully 
over  uneven  ground,  then  safely  past, 
her  speech  flew  over  the  remaining 
lines — 

"  Wich  wad  adainst  de  yule, 

It  made  de  chillin  yaff  an'  p'ay 
To  see  a  yam  at  cool ;" 

and  the  little  elocutionist  sat  down. 
Her  audience  clapped  his  hands  and 
shouted  with  laughter. 

"  'Top !"  she  exclaimed,  authorita- 
tively. "  You  stare  'e  bairds." 

"  Oh,  pardon  me !  I  forgot  I  was 
applauding  a  bird.  So  that  is  the 
language  of  fairy- land.  It  reminds 
me  of  the  verses,  'Mary  had  a  little 
lamb,'  that  I've  heard  little  mortals 
say ;  only  it  was  sweeter  and  shorter." 

"I've  dot  a  yam,"  the  child  said, 
looking  dreamily  at  the  opposite  hill- 
side; "an'  it  talts." 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


S3 


"  Oh,  yes,  of  course ;  you  have  be- 
AV itched  it." 

"  Es ;  it  tan  sing." 

"  Certainly.  Where  do  you  keep 
it?" 

Her  eyes  wandered  from  the  hill  to 
the  brook,  then  up  to  the  misty  sky. 

"  In  'e  c'ouds." 

"  Oh,  my  stars  !"  exclaimed  the  boy ; 
"  what  a  witch  you  are  !" 

"Ain't  a  wits!  I'se  Mir'on;  an' 
I  wants  my  dinna.  B'uce,  det  dat 
bastet."  The  dog  obeyed. 

"Ah,  that  reminds  me,  I  have  a 
lunch  to  get  rid  of.  I  suppose  yours 
is  fairy  food.  Now,  if  I  should  eat  it, 
would  I  be  a  fairy  like  you  ?" 

The  little  girl  surveyed  his  long 
length  of  limb  stretched  out  upon 
the  mossy  bank  below,  then  said,  de- 
cidedly, 

"No,sa." 

"  Oh,  I  wouldn't  ?  Well,  I'm  sorry. 
But  perhaps  this  dog  will  turn  mortal 
if  he  eats  this  beastly  ham.  Here, 
Bruce,"  and  he  tossed  the  stale  sand- 
wich to1  him,  but  the  dog,  taught  to 
refuse  food  from  strangers,  turned 
away  and  mounted  the  rock  by  the 
little  girl.  "  Most  remarkable  pair ! 
Nectar  and  ambrosia  for  both  of 
them." 

Very  quietly  they  sat;  the  dog  tak- 
ing the  tiny  morsels  of  cake  from  the 
child's  hands. 

"Now  I  want  a  d'ink,"  she  said, 
taking  the  tin  cup  from  the  emptied 
basket,  and  springing  lightly  from  the 
rock. 

"  Fairy  Thistledown,  let  me  get  the 
water." 

But  he  was  too  late.  Knowing  he 
sprung  to  catch  her,  that  he  was  close 


behind  her,  she  leaped  from  the  shore 
to  a  loose  stone,  stumbled,  and  was  on 
the  brink  of  the  fall,  when  his  hand 
caught  her. 

"Oh,  Birdy!  Birdy!"  he  cried, 
"you  might  have  been  dashed  to 
pieces !" 

She  threw  her  arms  around  his 
neck,  trembling  from  head  to  foot. 
Bruce  barked  a  fierce  disapproval  of 
the  entire  scene ;  and  as  the  young 
stranger  was  carrying  the  little  girl 
back  to  the  wayside  rock  Mrs.  Mor- 
gan came  rapidly  up  the  road,  and 
stood  before  him. 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?  My  child  ! 
my  darling !  are  you  hurt  ?"  she  ex- 
claimed, taking  the  child  from  his 
arms. 

"I'se  bad  aden,"  she  sobbed.  "I 
wun  an'  I  fa'  down.  He  dood  boy ; 
he  tetch  Bairdy." 

A  few  words  explained  all. 

"She  is  the  most  fascinating  little 
creature  I  ever  saw,"  the  young  man 
said.  "  Such  a  vivid  fancy.  She  told 
me  she  had  a  lamb  that  could  talk 
and  sing." 

Already  little  Miriam,  with  a  child's 
happy  faculty  of  forgetting  danger  or 
pain,  was  gathering  Michaelmas  dai- 
sies and  golden -rod  for  a  fresh  bou- 
quet ;  and  the  mother's  eyes  followed 
her  anxiously. 

"Her  imagination  is  too  vivid.  I 
try  to  repress  it  and  teach  her  to  say 
'  I  pretend,'  when  she  begins  her  long 
stones.  She  really  seems  unable  to 
distinguish  between  the  real  and  im- 
aginary. In  her  plays  she  carries  on 
conversations  and  enacts  scenes  which 
seem  actual  facts  to  her,  referring  to 
them  afterward  as  something  truly 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


occurring.  And  yet  she  is  very  truth- 
ful :  a  deception,  however  slight,  gives 
her  keenest  pain,  and  she  is  often  ab- 
surdly exact  in  her  statements." 

"  Well,  she  is  a  genius ;  no  mistake 
about  that.  Pardon  me ;  but  was  she 
born  among  these  hills  ?" 

"  Yes ;  her  name  is  Miriam  Morgan. 
You  are  going  to  our  settlement,  you 
said?" 

"  Yes,  madam.  I  am  on  Major  Mor- 
rill's  engineer  corps;  we  were  recom- 
mended to  apply  to  Mr.  Morgan  for 
a  comfortable  boarding  -  place  while 
at  work  on  this  division  of  the  rail- 
road." 

"Ah,  then  you  are  one  of  the  gen- 
tlemen we  are  expecting;  and  you 
can  go  home  with  me  now.  Come, 
Miriam." 

"  Tarry  me,  mover !" 

"Please  let  me  carry  her.  I  have  a 
baby  sister  at  home,  and — " 

"'Es,  'ou  tan  tarry  me;"  and  the 
tiny  despot  raised  her  hands  as  he 
knelt  to  take  her  in  his  arms. 

Going  down  the  steep,  narrow  road, 
Mrs.  Morgan  scanned  him  closely. 
Tall  for  his  years,  which  might  be 
eighteen  (she  afterward  learned  they 
were  two  less) ;  plainly  but  neatly 
dressed;  close -cut  curly  hair,  almost 
golden  in  hue;  bright  blue  eyes  in 
which  a  smile  seemed  ever  lurking, 
and  cheeks  flushed  by  exposure  till 
the  forehead  seemed  ivory  white  in 
contrast;  a  quiet  dignity  and  refine- 
ment of  manner,  ready  speech,  and 
brisk  walk — all  these  impressed  Mrs. 
Morgan  favorably  as  the  best  compan- 
ion possible  for  her  boys;  for  the 
railroad  was  coming  nearer,  and  every 
town  and  settlement,  tavern  and  farm- 


house, was.  besieged  by  workmen  and 
their  officers  seeking  board. 

"  We  can  accommodate  two,"  Mr. 
Morgan  said,  the  week  before;  and 
now  they  had  come. 

"You  have  a  sister;  have  you 
brothers?" 

"No,  ma'am.  There  are  only  my 
mother,  little  Dora,  and  myself.  Fa- 
ther died  before  she  was  born.  We 
live  with  my  mother's  brother  in  Vir- 
ginia. He  has  educated  me  for  a  civ- 
il engineer ;  this  is  my  beginning." 

"A  life  of  adventure  and  exposure  ; 
full  of  hardships  and  temptations  to 
be  conquered,"  Mrs.  Morgan  said,  mus- 
ingly, as  though  she  saw  this  youth's 
future  mapped  out  before  her. 

"And  who  is  your  companion  ?" 

"  Major  Morrill.  I  never  saw  him 
until  my  uncle  introduced  us  a  fort- 
night ago.  They  were  college  chums ; 
he  is  a  kind-hearted,  jovial  fellow,  not 
strictly  temperate,  but  very  gentle- 
manly. I  hope  you  will  like  the 
major,"  watching  the  pale  face  and 
drooping  eyelids.  "We  will  make 
as  little  trouble  as  possible." 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his. 

"There  is  only  one  way  you  can 
make  me  trouble,  for  work  is  not 
trouble.  My  boys  are  obedient,  re- 
spectful, honorable.  Help  me  to  keep 
them  so.  Will  you  ?" 

They  were  standing  on  the  brow  of 
the  hill  overlooking  the  little  hamlet. 
Very  pretty  and  peaceful  it  looked, 
hedged  in  by  the  variegated  hills,  the 
sunlit  brook  gliding  through  the  em- 
erald meadows,  and  the  calm  blue  riv- 
er reflecting  the  cloudless  sky. 

"  I  see  Damie  !"  cried  Miriam,  catch- 
in^  si  Hit  of  her  elder  brother  riding 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


85 


up  to  the  store  door.  ,  "An*  da's 
Davy  too  !  'Et  me  wun  !"  And  the 
little  maiden  sprung  from  the  boy's 
arms,  and  skipped  down  the  path. 

He  turned  to  Mrs.  Morgan  with  out- 
stretched hands. 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  can  do  or  say, 
ma'am,  to  keep  your  boys  from  evil, 
but  they  shall  never  be  hurt  by  any 
word  or  act  of  mine ;  and  if  I  can 
help  them,  I  will." 

"  Thank  you,"  the  mother  said,  tak- 
ing both  his  hands  in  hers :  for  a  mo- 
ment they  looked  in  each  other's  eyes. 
"Now  let  us  go  home.  Do  you  see 
that  little,  low  house  all  overrun  with 
vines?" 

"  Yes,  'm :  I  was  sure  that  was 
yours.  It  looks  like  a  pleasant  place 
to  rest  in,  and  a  happy  home  to  re- 
member." 

"God  grant  it  may  be  to  us  all! 
How  shall  I  introduce  you?"  she 
asked,  as  they  entered  the  gate. 

"I  have  almost  as  many  names  as 
n,  prince  royal ;  but  you  may  call  me 
Theodore  Montgomery." 

Happy  days  followed  at  the  wood- 
bine cottage ;  for  though  the  young 
engineer  faithfully  carried  chain  and 
added  columns  of  figures  for  his  chief, 
he  yet  found  leisure  hours  for  romp- 
ing with  little  Miriam,  and  idle  days 
for  hunting  and  fishing  or  gathering 
nuts,  with  Jamie  and  Davy,  and 
sometimes  Fred  or  Jack,  for  company. 
From  these  excursions  the  little  girl 
was  excluded  after  she  carried  the 
basket  of  trout  to  the  water,  "  DCS  to 
div'  'em  a  d'ink,"  and  let  them  one  by 
one  slip  from  her  dimpled  hands  and 
swim  down  the  brook.  And  so  loud 
were  her  lamentations  over  a  brace  of 


rabbits  brought  home  by  an  elated 
marksman  that  all  game  was  kept 
from  her  sight  until  prepared  for  the 
table,  where  it  was  only  meat  to 
her  anxious  inquiries  and  eager  ap- 
petite. 

Her  intense  love  of  the  beautiful, 
and  equally  intense  abhorrence  of  ev- 
erything uncouth  or  unclean,  had  a 
silent  influence  over  the  workmen,  to 
whom  she  ran  with  delight,  or  shrunk 
from  with  disgust,  as  their  manner  or 
dress  pleased  or  offended  her  fastidi- 
ous taste.  Quick  to  learn,  and  of  re- 
tentive memory,  the  child  learned  po- 
ems and  songs,  verses  of  Scripture, 
and  Mother  Goose's  Melodies  with 
equal  delight. 

Morris,  being  an  enthusiastic  Whig, 
taught  her  the  songs  of  his  party; 
while  Major  Morrill,  being  a  violent 
Democrat,  taught  her  a  Locofoco  song. 
With  a  voice  clear  as  a  bell  and 
sweeter  than  a  violin,  she  sung  or  re- 
cited equally  well,  the  indistinctness 
of  her  baby  utterance  giving  an  ad- 
ditional piquancy  to  the  language. 
The  perversity  of  her  sex  was  often 
shown  in  her  selections,  regardless  of 
requests  or  coaxing;  and  the  major 
was  often  provoked,  and  the  rest 
amused,  when  he  asked  for  "  Henry 
Clay  is  getting  Gray,"  to  hear  the 
merry  voice  sing  out, 

"'Ha!  ha!  ha!  such  a  nominee 
As  Dames  Tay  Toll  of  Tennessee.'" 

And  Mrs.  Morgan  was  once  mortified 
at  hearing  her,  instead  of  the  verses 
"Poor  and  needy  though  I  be" — re- 
quested by  a  dignified  colporter — with 
a  most  roguish  look  and  absurd  gest- 
ure, recite, 


so 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


"  'Da'  was  a  man  turn  to  ou'  town, 

He  was  so  wond'ous  wise, 
He  dumped  into  a  raspberry  bus' 
An'  scratched  out  bof  his  eyes ! 
An'  wen  he  saw  his  eyes  were  out, 

He  wun  wiv  might  an'  main, 
An'  dumped  into  a  Gooseberry  bus' 

An'  sc'watched  'em  in  aden  !' " 
Her  imitative  powers  were  wouder- 
ful,  and  many  a  comedy  and  tragedy 
was  enacted  by  herself  and  her  dolls. 
But  a  loud  laugh  or  loud  applause  of- 
fended her. 

"Mover,  Feo'  waffs!"  she  would 
sometimes  cry,  with  tears  of  real  dis- 
tress brimming  her  eyes,  when  the 
poor  boy  was  nearly  bursting  his  sides 
in  efforts  to  restrain  the  shouts  that 
her  quaint  or  comical  expression  had 
caused. 

.  "She  would  make  her  fortune  on 
the  stage,"  he  said  one  evening,  when 
she  had  been  entertaining  them  for 
hours. 

"  I  hope  the  future  has  a  better  fort- 
une for  her  than  that,"  her  mother  an- 
swered, quickly. 

"Do  you  think  actors  bad?  I 
thought  you  had  no  prejudices:  you 
seem  so  wise,  so  generous." 

There  was  a  bitterness  and  sadness 
in  his  tone  that  puzzled  Mrs.  Morgan, 
and  caused  Major  Merrill  to  look  at 
him  with  a  half-smile. 

"I  fear  I  have  prejudices, Theodore, 
like  other  folks,  which  were  educated 
in  and  have  never  been  reasoned  out. 
I  am  not  acquainted  with  any  actors 
or  actresses,  and  never  was  inside  a 
theatre,  and  personally  know  nothing 
against  them ;  and  yet  it  would  be  a 
great  grief  to  have  any  one  I  loved  or 
respected  adopt  acting  as  a  life-work." 
The  youth's  face  flushed  slightly; 


but  a  question  of  Fred's  about  coon- 
hunting  in  Virginia  turned  the  con- 
versation. 

"Are  you  as  decided  in  your  views 
of  amusements  and  temperance  as 
your  husband,  Mrs.  Morgan  ?"  Major 
Mori-ill  inquired,  as  the  boys  began 
eagerly  talking  at  the  opposite  side 
of  the  room. 

"I  don't  know  that  we  ever  com- 
pared opinions,  but  no  doubt  they  are 
similar." 

"Pardon  me  for  asking  a  question 
which  I  see  you  think  a  rude  one ;  but 
Mr.  Morgan  is  so  exceedingly  strict ! 
told  me  he  would  not  allow  his  boys 
to  play  checkers  !  never  tasted  a  drop 
of  liquor  in  his  life !  Now,  pardon  me 
— I  don't  wish  you  to  think  me  rude 
— but  really  I  never  heard  anything 
like  it ;  and  was  curious  to  know  if 
you  thought  as  he  did.  You  see,  I 
was  raised  differently,  and — " 

"All  games  of  chance  seem  to  me 
foolish,  if  not  sinful.  There  are,  of 
course,  games  of  skill  and  tests  of 
memory  which  are  amusing,  and  may 
be  beneficial  if  not  so  absorbing  as  to 
cease  to  amuse.  But  on  temperance 
I  can  imagine  but  one  opinion  among 
sensible  people.  A  human  being  un- 
able to  control  appetite  is  lower  than 
a  beast !  But  I  do  not  believe  there 
is  such  a  being.  "When  the  appetite 
and  passions  are  strong,  the  will  is 
correspoudently  strong,  and  can  con- 
trol if  the  person  desires  it." 

"  Why,  madam,  do  you  mean  to  say 
you  believe  a  man  who  was  raised 
on  liquor,  ate  the  sugar  out  of  the 
punch-bowl,  and  tasted  liquor  at  the 
still  when  a  mere  baby,  could  toss  off 
a  glass  of  brandy  without  winking  be- 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


87 


fore  he  could  say  the  multiplication- 
table —  do  you  suppose  a  man  raised 
like  that  could  help  being  a  drunk- 
ard ?" 

"I  do.  I  heard  a  man  say  it  was 
as  easy  to  quit  drinking  as  to  open 
his  hand.  Suppose  the  liquor  was 
even  that  near  his  lips  —  he  opened 
his  hand,  and — glass  and  liquor  were 
on  the  ground.  But,  seriously,  it 
would  be  a  hard  struggle,  and  a  long 
one,  to  conquer  a  habit  that  had  grown 
with  his  years ;  and  a  man  might  need 
a  mild  stimulant,  like  coffee,  and  his 
nerves  might  be  very  irritable.  But 
then  the  exultation  of  victory,  the 
knowledge  that  he  is  lord  of  himself, 
the  calm  of  the  conqueror !  For  he 
that  ruleth  his  own  spirit  is  mightier 
than  he  that  taketh  a  city." 

The  major  started  to  his  feet,  and 
walked  up  and  down  the  room ;  then 
paused  before  her. 

"Had  I  met  you  before,  madam — 
had  anybody  said  that  to  me  twenty 
years  ago —  But  I'm  afraid  it's  too 
late  now  !  Your  boys  will  be  trained 
right,  and  Theo  shall  never  be  what  I 
am.  Good-night,  ma'am,  good-night !" 
And  he  went  out  into  the  darkness. 

Jamie  had  lighted  the  dry  pine 
twigs  in  the  fireplace,  less  for  warmth 


than  illumination;  and  as  the  flames 
leaped  up,  the  shadows  were  driven 
into  corners  and  behind  the  furniture, 
and  the  room  glistened  and  glowed 
like  an  enchanted  palace. 

"Mother,  let  us  sing  our  evening 
hymn  before  we  say  good -night. 
Come,  boys.  You  start  it,  mother." 

And  the  voices,  timid  and  faltering 
at  first,  but  clear  and  fervent  at  the 
third  line,  joined  in  a  familiar  tune : 

"  For  friends  and  for  friendship,  for  health  and 

for  home, 
We   thank   thee  Our  Father,   wherever  we 

roam. 
We  thank  thee  for  hunger,  which  gives  food  a 

zest; 
We  thank  thee  for  labor  and  bless  thee  for 

rest. 

"The  lakes  and  the  rivers  have  blessings  in 

store, 
The  field  and  the  forest  will  each  day  yield 

more. 
Give  strength,  we  beseech  thee,  give  wisdom 

and  power, 
To  aid  in  each  duty  and  gladden  each  hour. 

"  We  thank  thee  for  pleasures,  for  freedom  from 

sin, 
For  love  that  makes  us  with  the  whole  world 

akin; 

We  bless  thee  for  guiding  us  safely  this  day ; 
We  trust  thee  to-night,  and  we  trust  thee  al- 
wav." 


CHAPTER  XII. 


"And  broad-winged  Commerce,  swift  to  carry  o'er 
Earth's  countless  blessings  to  her  farthest  shore, 
Stops  not,  though  forests  marshal  all  their  force, 
And  mountains  rise  to  stay  her  onward  course." 


J.  G.  SAXE. 


THE  New  York  and  Erie  Railroad 
was  nearing  its  completion.  The  ties 
were  piled  by  the  road-bed ;  the  rails 
were  brought  on  wagons  from  towns 
twenty  and  forty  miles  away;  and  in 
a  few  weeks  the  scream  of  the  iron 
horse  would  resound  among  these  hills, 
In  every  town  and  hamlet,  in  every 
tavern  and  cabin,  the  railroad  was  the 
constant  theme  of  conversation. 

Many  and  varied  were  the  opinions 
expressed :  the  game  would  be  driven 
from  the  forests ;  the  cattle  frightened 
from  the  fields ;  the  children  run  over 
by  the  cars.  The  impossibility  of  the 
trains  rounding  the  abrupt  curves; 
the  certainty  of  the  engines  running 
straight  forward  into  the  river ;  the  in- 
evitable collisions  between  trains  go- 
ing both  east  and  west  on  the  single 
track;  the  absurdity,  if  not  wickedness, 
of  attempting  to  travel  twenty  miles 
in  an  hour,  as  the  civil  engineers  bold- 
ly prophesied  their  doing — these  sub- 
jects were  gravely  discussed  with  se- 
rious apprehensions. 

"  It's  jest  a  -  flyin'  into  the  face  o' 
Providence,"  Mrs.  Rogers  declared. 


"  How  under  the  sun  an'  airth  them 
railroaders  dare  to  cut  right  thro' 
that  thare  ol'  buryin'-ground  is  what 
beats  me !  Why,  I  should  think 
they'd  be  afeard  to  go  out  nights  lest 
spooks  sh'u'd  chase  'em." 

"Wall,  I  hain't  'feared  o'  Uncle 
Jake  nor  Betsy  Jones's  baby;  wa'n't 
nothin'  but  a  han'ful  o'  dust  in  neither 
coffin ;  an'  Mister  Morgan  made  'em 
take'  em  up  an'  bury  'em  decent,"  Sam 
Jenkins  said,  thoughtfully.  "But  how 
this  'ere  body  o'  mine  kin  all  go  to 
nothin',  and  then  how  it  kin  all  come 
together  agin  an'  be  raised  up,  that's 
what  I  can't  understand  nohow  !  An* 
some  o'  them  thare  bones  '11  have  a 
time  gittin'  sorted,  I'll  bet.  They 
throwed  the  whole  on  'em  into  a  dry- 
goods  box  fust,  till  Mister  Morgan 
had  Bill  Morris  make  some  little 
coffins  to  hold  'era.  But  I'll  bet  they 
chucked  a  lot  on  'em  into  the  river, 
an'  ploughed  'em  under  the  road-bed 
when  nobody  was  a-watchin'  'em." 

"Wall,  you  don't  never  ketch  me 
a-ridin'  on  that  railroad  !  Makes  me 
kindy  quivery  to  think  o'  kears  goin' 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


SO 


right  over  them  poor  dead  bodies. 
Oh-dear-me-suz  /" 

"Good  gracious,  Mis'  Rogers,  le's 
talk  o'  suthin'  else !  I've  got  to  walk 
home  on  that  thare  railroad  track  to- 
night. What  riles  me  most  o'  any- 
thing is  them  hootin',  puffin',  snortin' 
ol'  ingines  scarin'  the  deer  forty  mile 
off;  an'  they're  gittin'  skurse  now." 

"An'  the  sooner  they're  all  gone, 
an'  you  hunters  spend  your  time  in 
clearin'  up  land,  the  better,"  Long 
John  answered,  testily.  "S'pose  the 
railroad  '11  profit  them  'at  built  it,  an' 
'twill  be  handier  gittin'  back  from 
down  the  river;  but  we  hain't  no  fur- 
ther use  for't,  fur  as  I  see ;  an'  likely 
'twill  bring  a  lot  o'  city  chaps  up 
here  to  show  our  boys  how  to  fool 
away  their  time  'ith  new  deviltry." 

Major  Morrill  and  Theodore  return- 
ed to  woodbine  cottage  for  a  parting 
call.  Mr.  Morgan,  Morris,  Major  Mor- 
rill, and  the  boys  sat  about  the  fire, 
eagerly  talking;  but  Theo  left  the 
group  and  drew  a  chair  to  the  table 
where  Mrs.  Morgan  was  seated.  In 
low,  earnest  tones,  he  told  her  of  his 
plans  and  hopes ;  while  she,  with 
words  of  loving  counsel,  deepened  the 
good  resolves  made  at  the  hour  of 
meeting. 

"I  tell  you,  major,  the  railroad  com- 
pany will  have  the  best  of  the  bar- 
gain yet,"  Mr.  Morgan  was  saying. 
"  It  is,  as  you  say,  a  regular  gouge 
game  on  the  part  of  the  common- 
wealth to  extort  ten  thousand  dollars 
a  year  for  the  privilege  of  running 
across  two  corners  of  the  State ;  but 
mark  my  words,  sir,  in  less  than  twen- 
ty years  that  will  be  the  company's 
gain  and  Pennsylvania's  loss  !" 


"  I  don't  see  that,  sir." 

"  Nor  I,"  added  Morris. 

"Well,  you  see  this  exonerates 
them  from  all  State  and  local  taxa- 
tion; school -tax,  road -tax,  poor -tax, 
and  so  on.  Now  they  will  be  shrewd 
enough  to  put  their  machine  -  shops 
on  this  land,  which  will  save  them  a 
large  and  constantly  increasing  sum 
of  money." 

"That  might  do  if  there  was  a  valley 
big  enough  to  hold  shops,  side-tracks, 
and  turn-tables ;  but  there  isn't." 

"  Well,  sir,  if  the  company  cannot 
find  a  place,  they'll  make  one  !  And 
forcing  them  to  put  the  road  farther 
back  on  the  mountain  to  prevent  the 
rocks  falling  in  the  river — " 

"Yes,  and  altered  the  grade  of  over 
fifty  miles  !"  growled  the  major. 

"Even  that  is  their  gain.  I  have 
been  on  the  Delaware  long  enough  to 
see  the  ice  pile  up  and  the  water  over- 
flow their  first  survey." 

"Perhaps  you  think  it  will  be  for 
their  advantage  .that  the  canal  com- 
pany forced  us  to  come  this  way  in- 
stead of  going  up  the  Lackawaxen,  as 
first  intended." 

"  I  do.  The  Honesdale  folks  think 
their  ditch  is  a  wonderful  thing  now ; 
but  they  will  be  begging  for  a  branch 
road  soon.  This  way  is  not  much 
steeper  grade,  you  say ;  and  if  you 
had  gone  up  the  Lackawack,  we  would 
never  have  had  the  pleasure  of  know- 
ing you." 

"  That  is  true ;  and  the  comfort  I 
have  enjoyed  in  your  house,  the  pleas- 
ure of  knowing  your  family,  ought  to 
reconcile  me  to  the  company's  loss, 
being  my  gain.  But  it's  time  we 
were  off.  Come,  Theo." 


90 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


They  were  urged  to  remain  over- 
night, but  insisted  a  sleigh-ride  of  a 
dozen  miles  behind  a  fast  horse  on  a 
moonlight  night  was  too  great  a  pleas- 
ure to  miss.  "Particularly  when  we 
anticipate  being  south  of  the  snow- 
line  soon." 

"I  suppose  Mira  is  asleep?"  Theo 
said,  as  he  folded  his  neck-shawl. 

"  She  is  easily  awakened,"  her  moth- 
er said,  "  and  will  be  disappointed  if 
she  does  not  see  you.  Coine  in  this 
room." 

Major  Morrill  laughed.  "  That  boy 
is  perfectly  bewitched  about  your 
baby;  shouldn't  wonder  if  he  came 
after  her  some  day.  Here,  Davy,  just 
button  my  overshoes  for  me.  You 
may  live  to  be  fat  and  fifty  yourself, 
and  hate  to  stoop  as  badly  as  I  do." 

Jamie  was  warming  his  overcoat, 
and  Mr.  Morgan  and  Morris  talking 
of  the  morrow's  work,  as  Theodore 
knelt  by  Miriam's  trundle-bed. 
"  Mira,  little  darling,"  he  whispered, 
putting  his  hand  'under  her  head  and 
turning  her  face  toward  him, "  Theo  is 
going  away ;  won't  you  wake  up  and 
speak  to  him  ?"  The  dark  eyes  open- 
ed sleepily. 

"Don't  do  'way!"  she  murmured, 
laying  one  dimpled  hand  on  his  cheek 
and  nestling  the  other  in  his  own. 

"  I  must,  Mira.  "Will  you  kiss  me 
good-bye?" 

She  clasped  her  arms  around  his 
neck  and  pressed  her  rosy  lips  to  his. 
"  Turn  back  aden,  teo,"  she  whisper- 
ed ;  then  turned  her  head  away  and 
was  asleep. 

He  arose,  and  the  mother  took  his 
hand.  "My  dear  boy,"  she  said,  "it 
seems  as  though  a  son  were  leaving 


me.  Keep  yourself  pure,  Theodore, 
and  come  back  again."  She  kissed 
him  twice. 

"God  helping  me,  I  will!  The 
book  you  gave  me  is  carried  here  " — 
he  put  his  hand  to  his  breast — "  and 
will  be  often  read.  "Will  you  accept 
this  from  me  ?"  He  put  a  small  leath- 
ern case  in  her  hand. 

"  Is  it  your  miniature  ?  Thank  you, 
my  boy.  Now  good-bye,  and  God 
keep  you." 

In  a  moment  the  partings  were 
over.  Months  passed,  and  the  "  Lit- 
tle Orange"  went  puffing  and  shriek- 
ing by,  to  the  wonder  and  delight 
of  the  people  gathered  on  the  river- 
bank.  But  their  astonishment  in- 
creased when  the  "Monster"  paused 
opposite  the  saw- mill,  and  a  man, 
swinging  himself  off  the  locomotive, 
hallooed  to  them  to  bring  over  some 
slabs. 

"  She's  out  o'  kindlin',  I  gue-ess," 
Mose  remarked.  "Here,  Jack,  you 
might  take  over  some  o'  them  thare 
pine-knots  I  got  to  go  a  eelin'  wi-uth. 
Jest  split  up  a  few  sla-ubs  an'  put  in 
my  canoe,  an'  I'll  pole  over." 

But  a  half-dozen  men  had  attacked 
the  slab  pile  beside  the  mill,  and  a 
float  was  half-way  across  the  river  be- 
fore the  canoe  was  untied.  Axes 
soon  cut  the  slabs  to  proper  length, 
and  the  empty  tender  was  supplied 
with  fuel. 

"  Now,  boys,"  said  the  engineer, 
"one  good  turn  deserves  another, 
they  say.  Just  form  a  line  to  the 
river  an'  fill  'or  up  with  water." 

"Yer  horse  wants  a  drink,  eh?" 
said  Jack,  taking  a  bucket. 

"  Yes,  won't  move  'thout  'er  reg'lar 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


91 


dram,  an'  there  ain't  a  tank  on  this  di- 
vision yet.  Pass  'em  up  lively,  boys." 

Soon  the  puffing  and  wheezing  be- 
gan again ;  clouds  of  steam  hovered 
around  and  above  the  crowd  of  cu- 
rious countrymen  who  pressed  nearer 
and  nearer  to  the  "snortin'  critter," 
until  with  a  shriek  that  sent  them 
backward  with  sudden  fright  the  en- 
gine moved  away. 

Soon  the  railroad  was  opened  to 
Binghamton,  and  two  trains  bearing 
the  officers  of  the  road,  members  of 
the  press,  and  leading  citizens  passed 
by ;  but  a  blinding  snow-storm  ob- 
scured the  sight  and  obstructed  the 
trains,  while  the  intense  cold  and  fierce 
winds  prevented  the  people  witness- 
ing the  novel  sight. 

A  grand  inauguration  of  the  com- 
pletion of  the  road  to  Lake  Erie  was 
anticipated.  Rumors  of  the  President 
of  the  United  States  and  his  Cabinet, 
Daniel  Webster,  and  other  men  who 
stood  almost  as  high'  in  the  nation's 
esteem,  taking  part  in  the  celebration, 
created  great  enthusiasm,  and  a  de- 
termination in  each  town  to  outdo  all 
others  of  its  size  in  display.  Mr. 
Morgan  became  as  zealous  as  any, 
and  determined  that  his  industries 
should  be  represented.  A  platform 
was  erected  beside  the  railroad  track. 
Piles  of  lumber  and  bark  were  put 
upon  it,  and  between  them  were 
spaces  for  groups  of  hunters  with 
game,  and  tanners  scraping  hides  and 
dressing  leather.  Silk  for  a  banner  was 
procured,  and  Mrs.  Morgan  and  Bes- 
sie spent  many  hours  in  embroidering 
a  wreath  of  ferns  and  flowers  on  one 
side  of  it,  and  on  the  other  the  name, 
in  glittering  tinsel,  JOHN  MORGAN. 


At  last  the  day  came.  From  ev- 
ery house  and  hut  for  miles  around 
men,  women,  and  children  gathered. 
Long  before  the  hour  appointed  for 
the  triumphal  car,  the  track  was  lined 
and  the  platform  crowded  by  the  ex- 
pectant people.  With  much  difficulty 
and  some  angry  words,  a  place  was 
found  for  the  tableaux :  a  prostrate 
buck  with  spreading  antlers,  a  hunter 
with  raccoon  cap  and  leathern  mocca- 
sons  beside  it;  another  hunter  dress- 
ed in  homespun,  with  a  brace  of  rab- 
bits at  his  back,  and  rifle  poised  at 
unseen  game.  On  the  other  side  of 
the  pile  of  bark  the  tanners  were  at 
work.  Walking  rapidly  to  and  fro, 
Mr.  Morgan  kept  the  boys  from  climb- 
ing the  lumber  piles,  or  standing  be- 
tween his  exhibit  and  the  track. 
How  long  the  minutes  seemed  ! 

At  last  a  puff  of  smoke  over  the 
hill — a  shrill  whistle— a  low  rumble, 
and  the  train  was  near.  Again  Mr. 
Morgan  assured  himself  that  all  was 
ready:  Jack  held  the  banner  a  few 
inches  higher. 

Now !  One  deafening  yell  arose. 
Rifles  and  hides  were  dropped;  the 
banner  was  thrown  down,  and  the 
crowd  rushed  forward  to  clasp  the 
President's  hand.  Davy  sprung  upon 
the  car,  grasped  every  hand  within 
reach,  jumped  off  as  the  train  moved 
on,  and  joined  in  the  parting  Hur- 
ra-a-ah ! 

Their  inauguration  was  over.  A 
perfect  Babel  of  chatter  from  every 
excited  man,  woman,  and  child  about 
what  they  did  and  whom  they  saw 
covered  Mr.  Morgan's  confusion  and 
anger  as  he  turned  away  and  walked 
homeward,  leaving  Morris  and  Jack 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


to  remove  the  exhibit  prepared  with 
so  much  trouble  and  expense,  only  to 
be  a  failure,  and  the  subject  of  rude 
jokes  for  years  to  come. 

"A  set  of  uncontrollable  barbari- 
ans !"  he  muttered.  "  I've  a  mind  to 
sell  out,  and  go  where  there  is  some 
civilization." 

Then,  as  he  paused  at  the  river-side 
and  looked  tip  the  valley,  he  added, 
"But  it  is  a  fine  estate  and  a  mag- 
nificent heritage  for  my  children." 

A  new  outlet  for  lumber,  leather, 
and  farm  produce  was  now  open,  and 
wealth  in  abundance,  power  unbound- 
ed, lay  within  reach.  Thoughts  of  the 
responsibilities,  the  dangers  involved 
in  such  possessions,  struggled  feebly 
and  were  put  aside.  The  contented 
farmer,  the  enthusiastic  disciple,  were 
fused  into  the  eager  money -getter. 
Strange  that  while  the  "shalt  not" 
of  Divine  authority  is  feared,  the 
"  cannot "  of  human  nature  is  uncom- 
prehended,  and  few  understand  the 
impossibility  of  serving  both  God  and 
Mammon. 

Before  many  months  had  passed, 
trains  were  running  with  some  regu- 
larity; but  an  accident  to  one,  how- 
ever slight,  detained  them  all,  each 
having  the  right  of  way  only  when 
arriving  at  the  stations  when  due, 
the  right  being  transferred  to  another 
as  soon  as  a  detention  occurred.  No 
telegraph  line  being  erected,  a  flag- 
man would  frequently  run  before  the 
train  to  warn  the  engineer  of  danger, 
or  drive  the  cattle  from  the  track, 
the  same  curiosity  that  infected  their 
owners  seeming  to  draw  them  before 
an  approaching  engine.  A  ride  on 
the  cars  was  the  ambition  of  every 


individual ;  the  passenger  -  coaches 
with  upholstered  seats,  gilded  mould- 
ings, and  shuttered  windows  were  the 
wonder  of  them  all,  and  a  journey 
from  one  station  to  another  a  treat 
only  the  enterprising  young  men 
could  afford  to  offer,  and  only  the 
most  venturesome  girls  dare  accept. 
Jamie  and  Davy  had  made  frequent 
excursions  on  the  flat  cars  drawn  by 
horses  before  the  first  locomotive  ar- 
rived, and  since  then  had  rung  the  bell 
and  pulled  the  whistle  of  the  "Little 
Orange."  But  a  ride  in  a  passenger- 
car,  with  a  conductor  to  take  one's 
money  for  a  ride — that  was  a  novelty 
yet  to  experience.  A  daily  mail  from 
the  East  and  the  West,  besides  the 
usual  semi -weekly  mail  from  across 
the  country,  kept  the  assistant  post- 
master busy  for  several  hours  each 
day ;  and  he  took  the  mail-bag  Davy 
brought  from  the  station  with  a  weary 
look. 

"A  letter  from  Uncle  Dave  to  moth- 
er, and  a  note  to  ma  Listen,  Davy  : 
'  James  Morgan,  yourself  and  brother 
are  urgently  invited  to  attend  an  oys- 
ter supper  at  our  house  to  -  morrow 
evening.''  Signed,  Robert  and  Maria 
Hotchkiss." 

"  Good  !  James  Morgan,  Esquire, 
2iresents  the  grateful  thanks  of  himself 
and  brother,  et  cnetera,  and  so  forth. 
But  the  ladies,  Jamie,  where  are  they  ? 
We  might  take  Jane  Rodgcrs  and 
Lucy  Jones ;  but  Jane  is  so  awkward, 
and.  Lucy  would  try  not  to  appear 
verdant  and  so  be  ridiculously  prim; 
and  neither  one  could  be  induced  to 
swallow  an  oyster.  But  they  are  the 
best  of  the  lot." 

"  Suppose  we  take  mother  and  Miri- 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


am?  Nothing  would  suit  me  so  well, 
and  Mrs.  Hotchkiss  and  Miss  Jean- 
nette  would  be  delighted.  Besides, 
Sam  Jenkins  wants  Lucy  to  go  with 
him  for  a  ride  in  the  cars.  He  has 
been  trying  to  get  a  chance  to  ask 
her,  but  she  dodges  him :  you  see,  she 
does  not  want  to  refuse,  nor  dare  to 

go." 

"  There  are  enough  girls  who  would 
be  glad  of  a  chance." 

"  Yes ;  but  the  chase  has  its  charms; 
and  Sam  knows  nothing  worth  hav- 
ing comes  without  seeking.  You  take 
the  invitation  to  the  house,  Davy,  and 
see  what  mother  says  about  it." 

But  Miriam,  who  was  seated  on  the 
door-step,  sewing  bits  of  calico  togeth- 
er to  form  blocks  for  a  quilt,  answered 
his  query  by  saying, 

"  Mother's  gone  to  see  Bessie,  an' 
I'm  going  to  s'prise  her  by  doing  this 
piece-work  all  my  lone  self." 

Davy  walked  to  Morris's  door. 

Robin  had  been  a  bad  boy  that 
morning,  and  Mrs.  Morgan  found  Bes- 
sie preparing  a  switch  for  a  severe 
castigation. 

"  I  told  the  bairn  ne'er  to  clirnb  oot 
th'  winda',"  she  said,  in  reply  to  Mrs. 
Mbrgan's  inquiries,  "an*  the  laddie 
hae  dune  the  vera  thing  he  waur  for- 
bid an'  pit  his  fut  thro'  th'  glass  o'  th' 
hot-bed  an'  broke  a'  th'  wee  plants 
doon  ;  an'  he  s'all  smart  weel  for  't," 
giving  the  birch  rod  a  vigorous  twirl, 
while  Robin,  a  sturdy  urchin  of  seven 
summers,  began  to  sob  piteously. 

"  For  what  will  you  punish  him, 
Bessie — the  disobedience  or  the  acci- 
dent ?" 

"Eh,  mem  ?    I  dinna  unnerstan'." 

"Are  you  going  to  whip  him  be- 


cause he  did  not  mind  you,  or  because 
he  broke  the  hot-bed  ?" 

"  Baith,  mem  ;  he  knew  I  bade  him 
not  do  't,  an'  he  lat  himsel'  doon  on 
the  glass  as  though  'twere  solid 
earth!" 

"And  if  his  feet  had  come  down  on 
solid  earth,  would  you  whip  him  just 
the  same  ?" 

"  Why,  'twad  dune  na  hairm  !" 

"But  he  would  have  disobeyed 
you." 

"Weel,  mem,  ye're  right;  maybe 
'tis  for  the  accident  I  was  maist  an- 
gered. But  what  wad  ye  hae  me  do?" 

"I  would  teach  him  he  must  obey 
because  my  commands  were  right." 

"An'  if  he  winna?" 

"I  would  show  him  disobedience 
brought  punishment.  If  he  was  not 
sorry  enough  at  grieving  me,  and  the 
mischief  done,  I  would  punish  him  in 
some  other  way.  But  when  Robin 
looks  at  the  glass  that  cost  his  father 
a  whole  day's-  work,  and  the  tomato- 
plants  that  will  never  lift  their  heads 
again ;  never  bear  any  pretty  lady- 
apples  for  his  mamma — "  The  melan- 
choly tone  and  reproachful  face  were 
too  much  for  Robin's  endurance,  and, 
with  a  loud  wail  of  anguish,  he  ran  to 
Bessie  and  threw  himself  at  her  feet. 

"  I'll  ne'er  do  't  agen,  mammy  !  I'll 
mind  ivery  word  ye  tell  me,  'deed  I 
will !  Ye  may  whip  me  an  ye're  a 
mind  to,  mammy ;  I'm  sae  awfu'  bad 
boy."  And  the  tears  poured  over  the 
sunburnt  face. 

"  Na,  na,  I'll  not  whip  thee,  laddie," 
the  mother  said,  taking  the  child  in 
her  arms ;  "  but  ye  must  ken  some- 
thing bad  wull  happen  to  ye  when- 
e'er ye  winna  mind  yer  mither,  for 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


God  sees  ye,  if  I  dinna,  an'  he'll  punis' 
ye." 

The  boy  looked  out  with  scared 
eyes  at  the  far  -  away  clouds  that 
might  conceal  the  All-seeing. 

"  But,  Robin,  our  Father  in  Heaven 
keeps  watch  of  us  to  keep  harm  away. 
He  only  puts  a  hurt  into  bad  things 
so  we  will  not  choose  them,  just  as 
your  mamma  puts  lumps  of  salt  in 
the  sugar-bowl  to  keep  her  boy  from 
eating  too  much  sweet.  See  that  but- 
terfly, Robin.  God  made  that,  and  all 
the  birds  and  flowers.  Isn't  he  good?" 

The  boy  saw  his  father  approaching, 
and  ran  to  meet  him,  apparently  heed- 
less of  the  theological  lesson  he  had 
received.  But  as  Morris  turned  to 
the  mill,  which  was  forbidden  ground 
to  children,  he  paused  and  picked  a 
daisy,  looking  from,  it  to  the  sky. 

"  Robin  is  a  good  boy,  Bessie.  You 
need  have  no  trouble  with  him." 

Mrs.  Morgan  drew  her  work  from 
her  pocket,  and  leaned  back  comforta- 
bly in  the  cushioned  chair. 

"Eh,  mem,  'tis  a  sair  task  for  me! 
He's  sac  wi'f  u'  an'  res'less,  an'  speers  at 
me  wi'  questions  till  I'm  near  daft  wi' 
him  !  An'  gin  he  gangs  wrang  at  th' 
lang-last,  I'll  hae  to  beir  nabody  kens 
hoo  muckle  o'  th'  wyte  o'  't."  And 
the  young  mother  sighed.  "  I  canna 
unnerstan'  why  the  worl'  's  sae  fu'  o' 
things  'at  canna  be  touched.  It's  a' 
Thou  shalt  not  on  ither  side.  What 
fur  s'uld  there  be  ony  temptations  at 
a',  mem  ?  Why  needs  there  be  ony 
but  gude  things?" 

Mrs.  Morgan  looked  with  surprise 
at  the  flushed,  perplexed  face. 

"I  never  knew  you  puzzled  your 
mind  with  such  questions,  Bessie. 


But  I  suppose  God  wants  us  to  be 
something  better  than  machines  that 
must  go  one  way,  and  cannot  go  any 
other.  Suppose  you  had  been  so 
afraid  Robin  would  get  hurt  by  creep- 
ing that  you  kept  him  constantly  in 
your  arms :  he  would  never  have 
learned  to  walk ;  or  if  you  kept  him 
shut  away  from  all  danger,  he  would 
grow  up  an  idiot.  We  must  learn  to 
obey  first ;  then,  as  we  grow  wiser,  to 
choose.  Do  you  understand  ?" 

"  Oh,  ay ;  I  ken  a'  that.  But  th'  re- 
sponsibility o'  a  boy  is  just  awfu' !" 

"I  do  not  feel  it  so.  They  aro 
God's  children  more  than  mine.  We 
are  the  parents  of  their  bodies.  lie  is 
Creator  of  their  spirits.  I  do  not 
know  what  he  means  them  to  be  or 
to  do;  but  I  know  he  wants  pure, 
self-controlled  minds  in  strong,  active 
bodies;  and  I —  Here  comes  Davy;  I 
am  wanted  at  home."  And^he  folded 
her  work  and  put  on  her  bonnet. 

As  they  walked  homeward,  Davy 
put  the  invitation  -in  her  hand,  and 
told  his  and  Jamie's  wish. 

"Thank  you  both  for  the  compli- 
ment, my  boys,"  she  said,  with  a  face 
radiant  with  love  and  pride.  "I  am 
a  happy  mother  to  be  the  one  lady  in 
my  sons'  thoughts;  but  I  must  de- 
cline for  myself  as  well  as  Miriam.  I 
am  too  old  and  she  too  young,  for 
such  pleasures,  now.  Precious  little 
wonder-woman!  Ah,  my  children, 
how  I  do  long  for  cultured  minds 
and  refined  associates  for  you  !  But 
the  Father  knows  best,  and  we  have 
each  other.  Don't  keep  Jamie  wait- 
ing, dear.  And,  Davy,  if  you  give 
pleasure,  it  shall  be  given  to  you :  re- 
member, that." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


"  She  is  not  sad,  yet  in  her  gaze  appears 
Something  that  makes  the  gazer  think  of  tears." 

MRS.  EMBURY. 


"  OH,  mother,  if  I  only  could  go  to 
school!" 

"  Yes,  daughter,  yes." 

The  first  voice  was  full  of  the  quick 
impatience  of  youth — hope  struggling 
with  circumstance;  and  the  other 
toned  by  experience  and  the  hope 
deferred  that  maketh  the  heart  sick. 
They  were  sitting  together  on  the 
porch  of  the  same  vine-wreathed  cot- 
tage—  Mrs.  Morgan  and  Miriam  —  a 
"basket  of  unshelled  pease  between 
them,  and  brightly  scoured  tins  in 
their  laps,  into  which  the  emerald 
balls  were  dropping  rapidly  from 
their  supple  fingers.  The  fragrance 
of  roses  mingled  with  the  odor  of 
new -mown  hay  floated  about  them 
unheeded;  the  robin's  warble  and 
bobolink's  trill  brought  no  delight. 
Silent  and  thoughtful  they  sat,  the 
mother  and  daughter,  with  the  glad 
sunshine  flooding  the  earth,  and  dark- 
ness in  their  hearts. 

"Do  you  suppose  he  would  sell  any 
hay?" 

The  young  girl's  eyes  wandered  up 
the  valley,  across  the  acres  of  pota- 
toes and  corn,  to  the  fields  where  men 
were  raking,  tossing,  and  forming  into 


oval  heaps  the  dried  grass  cut  the  day 
before. 

"  No,  child ;  there  won't  be  any  to 
spare.  We  had  to  begin  to  feed  it 
out  in  October  last  year,  and  the  cat- 
tle have  no  good  pasture  till  June. 
If  they  could  have  got  that  bark  off 
last  freshet,  then — " 

"  Yes,  then  he  would  have  bought 
that  team  of  Jackson;  I  heard  him 
say  so.  That's  all  he  cares  for;  more 
teams,  more  lumber,  more  saw -mills, 
more  tanneries,  and  everlasting  law- 
suits." 

"  Miriam !" 

"  Well, mother,  isn't  it  so?  Aren't 
\vejust  slaving  our  lives  away  to  get 
more  lands  and  more  money  —  and 
what  good  will  it  do  us?  Here's 
Jamie,  just  longing  to  study  medi- 
cine ;  and  Davy,  wanting  to  be  a  ma- 
chinist; and  you  losing  your  health 
and  prettiness — for  you  are  pretty,  you 
dear,  blessed  little  mother !  —  and  I, 
growing  up  a  great,  big,  ignorant 
girl,  with  oh,  such  a  craving  for  books 
and  society !"  A  big  sob  and  a  burst 
of  tears  choked  her,  and,  jumping  up 
quickly,  she  ran  into  the  kitchen  with 
her  pan  of  pease,  creating  a  great 


90 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


clatter  with  the  kettles  and  stove; 
but  when  she  returned  to  the  vine- 
covered  porch  her  face  was  tear- 
stained,  but  smiling ;  and  she  said, 
merrily,  "  Now,  little  mother,  you're 
day-dreaming!  I've  caught  you  at 
it !  And  the  pease  are  not  all  shelled, 
and  the  table's  not  set,  and  the  let- 
tuce's not  picked,  and  pretty  soon  the 
tannery  bell  will  ring,  and  all  those 
hungry  haymakers  will  be  here  to 
dinner.  You  needn't  *  go  to  the  ant,' 
though;  you  just  keep  near  me. 
There's  the  milk  to  skim,  cream  to 
churn,  butter  to  work  over,  cookies  to 
make,  currants  to  pick,  and  shirts  to 
iron  this  very  afternoon;  and  then 
by-and-by  in  the  twilight,  when  sup- 
per is  over,  we'll  sit  out  here  on  the 
porch,  and  I  will  tell  you  a  story 
about  an  unsatisfied  but  not  ungrate- 
ful girl,  and  what  she  intends  to  do 
with  herself." 

The  mother's  face  brightened ;  the 
pease  rattled  in  the  pan,  keeping  up 
a  merry  accompaniment  to  the  girl's 
eager  talk  of  the  work,  Bessie's  baby, 
Jane  Rodgers's  marriage,  and  Fred's 
anticipated  visit  with  his  bride  after 
an  absence  of  eight  years. 

"  lie  will  find  us  in  the  same  little 
cottage  under  the  hill.  We  were  go- 
ing to  have  a  new  house  the  next 
year  after  he  left,  and  it  has  been  the 
next  year  ever  since.  Oh,  well,  he 
will  enjoy  it  more  than  a  new,  strange 
one.  Even  Bruce,  dear  old  fellow ! 
is  here  to  welcome  him.  But  he 
isn't  the  frisky  puppy  he  was  when 
Fred  taught  him  to  carry  bundles 
from  the  store,  bring  in  wTood,  and 
shut  the  door.  See  him,  down  there 
in  the  grass,  raise  his  head  and  look 


at  me.  I  believe  he  always  knows 
when  any  one  is  talking  of  him.  Yes- 
terday he  was  lying  by  the  stove 
door,  and  Davy  said,  'Bruce  is  a 
homely  dog,'  and  the  old  fellow  drop- 
ped his  ears,  and  looked  at  him  so 
reproachfully  from  under  his  shaggy 
brows !  Then  Davy,  without  altering 
his  tone  one  bit,  said, '  But  he's  a  good 
dog,'  and  Bruce  wagged  his  tail,  got 
up,  and  licked  Davy's  hand.  I'm  sure 
he  used  to  understand  every  word  I 
said  to  him,  long  years  ago,  when  we 
wandered  in  the  woods  and  I  told 
him  fairy  stories.  I  am  so  sorry  to 
see  him  grow  old.  If  he  could  only 
go  to  heaven  !" 

"  Oh,  daughter !" 

"  Well,  now,  mother,  Bruce  has  al- 
ways been  just  as  good  as  he  could  be. 
He  never  has  neglected  a  duty — " 

"  Except  when  he  left  the  basket  of 
eggs  in  the  road." 

"And  that  was  to  drive  a  strange 
dog  out  of  the  yard.  It  was  a  ques- 
tion between  two  duties,  and  I  know 
that  he  was  sorry  he  did  not  choose 
right.  He  is  strictly  honest ;  he  nev- 
er took  a.  thing  that  was  not  given 
him  or  he  did  not  earn." 

"  Except  dry  sticks  from  Bessie's 
wood-shed." 

"Oh,  now,  mother,  that  was  real 
cunning,  when  our  wood  was  all  green 
and  wet !  He  is  a  great  deal  better 
than  some  humans  I  know,  and  I'd  a 
deal  rather  see  him  in — " 

"There,  child;  you  had  better  go 
get  the  pie  and  put  it  on  the  table, 
and  sweep  up  the  pods." 

The  fire  was  replenished  and  the 
table  spread  fou-  dinner.  Then  the 
mother  passed  into  the  bedroom, 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


97 


closed  the  door,  and,  kneeling  before 
a  low  chair,  buried  her  face  in  her 
hands.  Every  day  she  entered  into 
her  closet,  and  as  often  received  pa- 
tience, strength,  and  peace.  The  old 
chair  had  become  an  altar  and  a 
shrine.  Sacrifices  had  there  been  of- 
fered, burdens  there  laid  down :  while 
holy  memories  of  a  mother's  counsel, 
a  father's  good-night  kiss,  and  a  broth- 
er's caresses  centred  about  this  rock- 
ing-chair. Rising  from  her  knees,  she 
sat  upon  its  faded  cushions,  and,  rest- 
ing her  elbows  on  its  arms,  bowed 
her  head  upon  her  hands.  Thoughts 
flitted  back  to  her  girlhood  days; 
those  ardent  hopes,  eager,  ambitious, 
vague  longings ;  then  the  early  mar- 
riage, the  disappointments,  the  priva- 
tions, the  repressions. 

"  My  daughter's  life  shall  be  differ- 
ent," she  said. 

A  quick  step  on  the  porch,  an  im- 
patient voice  at  the  kitchen  door, 
aroused  her. 

"  Come,  come,  come !  Here's  all  the 
men  waiting  for  their  dinner,  and  not 
a  soul  to  get  it.  Miryum !" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  she  answered,  coming  up 
the  steps  with  a  pan  of  freshly  wash- 
ed lettuce  in  her  hand. 

"  Come  now,  I  ain't  agoing  to  have 
any  such  work  as  this !  I  told  you 
to  have  dinner  at  twelve  o'clock,  and 
here  it  is  a  quarter  after,  and  it  ain't 
half  ready." 

"The  tannery  bell  hasn't  rung." 

"You  haven't  anything  to  do  with 
the  tannery  bell ;  you  might  as  well 
make  your  calculations  by  the  cows 
coming  home  !  But  I  want  my  dinner 
at  twelve  o'clock,  and  I  ain't  agoing 
to  have  a  dozen  men  kept  waiting." 


"  There,  that's  enough."  Mrs.  Mor- 
gan took  the  dish  from  Miriam's  trem- 
bling fingers,  and  whispered,  "  Go  to 
the  store  and  call  Jamie  to  dinner." 

"Miriam  is  working  beyond  her 
strength  every  day,  John,"  she  said, 
as  the  girl  went  out  again  into  the 
dazzling  sunlight. 

"Yes;  very  hard  she  works.  She 
don't  earn  the  salt  in  her  porridge !" 
and  the  father  went  out  on  the  back 
porch,  where  the  men  were  splashing 
the  water  from  the  tin  wash-basins 
on  the  long  bench,  and  rubbing  their 
hands  and  faces  on  the  coarse  towels 
hung  above  it. 

"Guess  'twill  rain  'fore  mornin', 
Mister  Morgan,"  said  Sam  Jenkins, 
arranging  his  bushy  locks  before  the 
little  mirror. 

"  Well,  I  want  that  hay  all  in  be- 
fore sundown,  whether  it  rains  or 
not,"  looking  off  to  the  west,  where  a 
pale  mist  hovered  over  the  hills. 

"Did  Long  John's  cattle  hurt  your 
corn  much  ?"  asked  a  thin,  wiry  man, 
after  a  moment's  silence. 

"  Done  over  forty  dollars'  worth  of 
damage,  and  he  shall  pay  me  the  full 
amount  or  I'll  prosecute  him.  The 
fault  was  not  in  my  fences,  but  in  his 
breach y  cow." 

"  I  heard  he  wanted  to  settle  it." 

"  Yes,  on  his  own  terms.  I  guess 
he'll  find  the  law  will  settle  it.  But 
come  ;  dinner  is  ready." 

A  formal  and  lengthy  grace  was 
said,  but  no  further  words  except 
those  necessary  in  passing  the  food, 
until  one  by  one,  their  appetites  being 
satisfied,  the  men  rose  from  the  table 
and  left  the  house.  Jamie  lingered 
after  the  rest  had  gone.  The  five 


OS 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


years  had  made  the  shy,  sensitive  boy 
a  thoughtful,  earnest,  generous  man. 
The  same  straight  black  hair,  clear- 
cut  features,  dark -gray  eyes,  and 
curved  lips  unshaded  by  beard ;  the 
same  gentle  movements  and  sympa- 
thetic tones,  which  were  the  magic  that 
unlocked  all  hearts,  and  a  quiet,  self- 
assured  manner  that  the  responsibili- 
ties of  business  had  given.  For  Jamie 
was  cashier  and  book-keeper  in  the 
firm  of  Morgan  &  Sons,  keeping  the 
accounts  of  the  men  employed  in  the 
three  saw -mills  and  tannery,  with  a 
score  of  wood -choppers  and  bark- 
peelers,  the  teamsters  and  farm-hands, 
regulating  their  pass-books,  and  set- 
tling their  disputes.  Every  spring  and 
fall  several  weeks  were  spent  in  New 
York  purchasing  goods  for  the  store. 
With  all  these  labors,  Jamie  still  found 
time  to  establish  a  circulating  libra- 
ry and  reading-room  in  the  tannery 
boarding-house,  and  a  debating  socie- 
ty and  temperance  union,  which  held 
their  meetings  on  alternate  Wednes- 
day evenings.  If  the  duties  of  chair- 
man, secretary,  reporter,  critic,  libra- 
rian, and  treasurer  were  ever  oner- 
ous or  annoying,  added  to  his  other 
labors,  no  one  ever  heard  a  complaint, 
and  there  was  always  leisure  to  at- 
tend to  any  family  want,  give  coun- 
sel on  any  subject,  or  visit  any  sick 
person  when  called  on,  night  or  day. 
He  used  the  forceps  or  lancet  with  a 
dentist's  and  surgeon's  skill,  and  set- 
tled many  a  knotty  point  of  law  for 
country  squires  and  attorneys. 

Davy — reckless,  fun-loving  Davy — 
had  become  restless  under  the  many 
cares,  unwillingly  assumed  and  care- 
lessly executed.  "These  hills  shall 


never  hedge  in  my  life,"  he  had  said, 
when  as  a  school -boy  he  longed  for 
a  wider  outlook  and  more  congenial 
work.  But  daily  duties  and  love  for 
his  mother  kept  him  still  hedged  in 
and  bound  down  to  labor  he  detested. 
"Up  in  the  morning  at  six  o'clock, 
getting  yesterday's  dirt  out  of  sight, 
ready  to  smile  on  the  first  customer, 
inquire  about  the  lame  horse  or  sick 
baby,  weighing  out  groceries,  meas- 
uring dress  goods,  cutting  off  samples, 
dealing  out  hardware,  tasting  butter, 
wrapping  up  patent  medicines,  rec- 
ommending pills,  counting  eggs,  copy- 
ing accounts  in  greasy  pass-books,  ex- 
plaining charges,  giving  prices,  hear- 
ing complaints,  contradicting  state- 
ments—  all  these  employments  have 
filled  up  this  day,  which  is  but  a  sam- 
ple of  every  day"  —  Davy  wrote  to 
his  uncle  David.  But  the  labors  were 
shared  by  Jack,  often  performed  by 
him  alone,  while  Davy,  careless  of  his 
father's  reproof,  spent  days  in  saunter- 
ing through  the  forest,  with  rifle  or 
'fishing-rod  in  his  idle  hands.  There 
were  also  debts  to  be  collected ;  and 
in  this  part  of  their  business  Davy's 
easy,  assured  manner,  mirthful  jokes, 
and  frequent  laugh  succeeded  best  of 
all.  Days  and  sometimes  weeks  wrere 
spent  in  long  tours  on  horseback  or  in 
a  wagon,  travelling  among  their  cus- 
tomers, and  returning  with  money, 
judgment  notes,  mortgages,  or  prod- 
uce to  settle  their  accounts.  Often 
the  machinery  of  the  mills  or  tannery 
would  need  repairing,  and  then  Davy 
had  employment  that  pleased  him. 
Self-taught,  and  with  tools  of  his  own 
making,  not  a  wheelwright  in  the 
county  could  do  a  better  job.  His 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


09 


father  often  pointed  out  his  work  with 
pride  and  words  of  commendation, 
which  he  was  careful  his  boys  should 
not  hear,  believing  praise  was  injuri- 
ous to  immature  minds.  When  urged 
to  give  his  children  a  more  thorough 
education,  and  wider  opportunities  for 
culture,  he  declared  they  knew  quite 
enough  to  transact  the  business  as- 
signed them;  and  when  the  varied 
talents  of  each  were  alluded  to,  he 
insisted  they  found  ample  time  and 
space  for  their  development. 

"I  came  into  this  wilderness  to 
make  an  opening  for  my  family.  Here 
is  work  enough  for  all  the  talents 
they  may  have,"  he  would  say. 
"  Restless  ?  Boys  are  always  rest- 
less, and  girls  are  always  discontent- 
ed !  But  they'll  outgrow  it.  I  in- 
tend they  shall  live  here,  and  after  I 
am  gone  my  fortune  shall  be  theirs." 

Jamie  pushed  his  chair  from  the 
table,  saying, '  Mother,  I've  sent  for  a 
hired  girl  to  help  you  through  hay- 
ing ;  and  if  you  like  her,  she  will  stay 
all  summer." 

"  Does  your  father  know  it  ?" 

"  I  will  tell  him.  It  is  my  own  af- 
fair, and  I  will  see  to  her  wages.  She 
will  be  here  to-morrow.  And,  moth- 
er, Davy  is  going  on  one  of  his  long 
collecting  tours  with  the  little  wagon. 
What  do  you  say  to  letting  Mira  go 
with  him?  She  needs  a  change,  and 
they  could  go  gypsying  through  the 
country,  stopping  at  farm-houses  at 
night.  They  will  be  within  a  day's 
ride  of  home  when  farthest  away ; 
but  he  may  not  be  able  to  see  all  our 
debtors  within  a  week.-  It  is  not  the 
change  she  ought  to  have,  but  it  is 
better  than  none." 


"  If  she  wants  to  go,  she  can ;  but  I 
have  another  plan,  Jamie,  that  I  want 
your  opinion  of." 

"James" — the  voice  of  his  father 
never  seemed  more  harsh  and  exas- 
perating — "  what  do  you  mean  by 
keeping  those  men  waiting  while  you 
idle  away  your  time  in  the  house? 
Here's  Jones  and  Wainright  with  the 
cash  in  their  hands,  and  their  accounts 
not  made  out." 

"  Their  accounts  are  ready  for  them, 
sir;  and  Jones  wants  three  months' 
time." 

"  Well,  he  won't  get  it.  I've  wait- 
ed on  him  over  a  year,  and — " 

"He  has  had  bad  luck  lately," 
Jamie  went  on,  calmly  unmindful  of 
the  interruption.  "Stove  his  scant- 
ling, and  the  fire  got  into  his  bark. 
I  told  him  we  would  wait  until  he 
run  his  logs.  We  will  finish  our  talk 
after  supper,  mother ;"  and  the  young 
man  followed  his  father  to  the  store. 

Davy  soon  entered  with  Miriam. 
Both  faces  were  eager  and  smiling. 

"  Oh,  little  mother,  do  say  I  may  go 
with  Davy !  We'll  have  the  nicest 
time — do  say  I  can !"  And  the  girl 
caught  her  mother  in  her  arms,  gave 
her  a  hug  and  a  whirl,  and  seated  her 
at  the  table. 

"  What  a  crazy  creature  she  is !"  ex- 
claimed Daw.  "  Suppose  she  should 
get  such  a  fit  on  when  we  were  ten 
miles  from  anywhere !  Don't  think 
I'd  better  risk  it,  mother ;  say  no,  for 
mercy's  sake !" 

"And  leave  me  alone  with  her?" 
Mrs.  Morgan  said,  wiping  the  tears  of 
laughter  from  her  eyes.  "  I  think  I 
will  say  yes,  and  see  if  you  can  tame 
her." 


100 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


"And  you  know  all  about  it — Jamie 
has  told  you?  Isn't  it  splendid? 
Davy  says  my  new  calico  dress  is 
plenty  good  enough,  and  I  better  take 
another,  for  fear  it  might  rain — but  it 
won't,  I  know — and  I  must  make  some 
biscuit  and  some  ginger-snaps.  But 
say,  mother — "  she  lowered  her  voice, 
and  a  look  of  scorn  curved  her  red 
lips — "  Davy  says  I  better  walk  over 
to  Auntie  Rodgers  and  wait  for  him 
there ;  because  father  will  make  such 
a  time,  if  he  knows  I  want  to  go, 
and — "  A  crimson  flush  swept  from 
chin  to  brow. 

Davy's  voice  broke  in  impatiently. 
"Mother,  if  we  can  have  a  little  pleas- 
ure, do  let  us  have  it  in  peace.  You 
know  just  what  a  row  there  would  be 
about  expense,  and  trouble,  and  my 
fooling  away  my  time  and  not  attend- 
ing to  business ;  and  if  I  failed  to  col- 
lect a  bad  debt,  it  would  be  because 
I  took  Miriam.  Now,  it  is  easier  to 
prevent  evil  than  to  cure  it,  you  often 
say.  Probably  she  won't  be  missed,  for 
he  is  going  to  court,  Thursday ;  and 
if  she  is,  you  can  say  she  went  over  to 
Auntie  Rodgers;  but  it  isn't  likely  a 
question  will  be  asked.  Now  mind, 
Miriam,  if  there  is  any  trouble  about 
it,  you  can't  go ;"  and  he  hurried  back 
to  the  store,  where  customers  were 
waiting,  for  few  would  trade  with  Mr. 
Morgan  while  Davy  was  about.  His 
jovial  manner  and  hearty  good-will 
attracted  customers  from  far  and  near. 
His  plan  was  carried  out.  The  fol- 
lowing morning  Mr.  Morgan  mounted 
his  horse  and  rode  away,  saying  he 
would  be  home  Saturday.  For  the 
remainder  of  the  week  Jamie  and 
Jack  were  left  alone  in  the  store,  and 


worked  until  late  at  night  posting 
books  and  copying  accounts.  Satur- 
day evening  Davy  drove  up  to  the 
store  door,  and  unloaded  the  merchan- 
dise he  had  collected — a  bale  of  hides, 
two  tubs  of  butter,  a  roll  of  home- 
made flannel,  a  pail  of  honey,  a  cheese, 
and  a  quantity  of  eggs — besides  the 
notes  and  cash  his  pocket-book  con- 
tained. A  few  minutes  later  Miriam 
entered  the  door,  an  anxious  look  dim- 
ming the  brightness  of  her  smile. 

"Has  father  got  back?  Oh, we've 
had  the  splendidest  time !"  she  said, 
between  kisses,  "  and  the  hired  girl 
came,  and  you  got  along  just  as  well 
without  me  ?  That  was  all  the  worry 
I  had ;  that  and  " — lowering  her  voice 
— "the  fear  that  father  might  get 
back  first;  but  Davy  was  sure  he 
wouldn't.  I  never  had  such  fun.  We 
made  believe  we  were  gypsies  and 
Irish  emigrants,  and  Davy  would  say 
the  drollest  things;  and  I  stayed  all 
one  day  at  Point  Pleasant  with  a  real 
nice  lady,  and  she  taught  me  a  new 
kind  of  knitting  with  one  needle  with 
a  hook  on  'the  end  of  it.  She  asked 
me  if  I  wouldn't  come  there  to  school 
next  winter,  and  board  with  her.  Do 
you  s'pose  I  can,  mother  ?" 

"Why,  what  a  chatterbox  my  little 
girl  is,  and  how  sunburnt !  I  intend 
you  shall  spend  this  winter  in  school, 
my  dear,  but  not  so  near  home  as 
that." 

"Do  you?  Can  I?  Oh,  I  am  so 
glad  !  Has  father  said  I  could  ?" 

"I  can't  answer  your  questions 
now,  my  daughter.  You  will  go  to 
the  best  school  we  can  find,  but  how 
or  where  I  cannot  tell.  "VVe  must 
work  and  wait. 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


101 


Before  dark  Mr.  Morgan  came,  and 
was  immediately  shown  the  results  of 
Davy's  tour.  He  had  gained  a  long- 
contested  lawsuit,  and  this,  with  the 
collected  debts,  put  him  in  good -hu- 
mor with  himself  and  the  world.  He 
retired  early.  Miriam  went  over  to 
Bessie  Morris's  home  to  tell  of  her 
journey,  and  Mrs.  Morgan  sat  upon 
the  porch  with  her  sons.  Long  and 
earnestly  they  talked  of  hopes,  trials, 
desires,  plans,  and  of  Miriam. 

"You  are  right,  mother.  Davy 
ought  to  go  to  school,  but  Mira  must ; 
and  I  see  no  other  way  than  the  one 
you  propose  of  appealing  to  Uncle 
David.  Your  letter  will  awaken  his 
interest  in  her,  and  I  will  write  to- 
morrow, making  myself  personally  re- 
sponsible for  the  amount  of  tuition." 

"But  her  clothes  —  there  isn't  a 
thing  in  the  store  fit  for  a  nice  dress, 
is  there,  Davy  ?" 

"No;  and  no  chance  to  get  any- 
thing until  I  get  the  fall  goods.  She 
ought  to  be  ready  to  go  to  Philadel- 
phia with  you,  if  she  goes  to  school 
there.  You  don't  think  Aunt  Clarissa 
would  board  her,  do  you  ?" 

"  *  Friend,  first  thee  tells  a  lie  and 
then  thee  asks  a  question,'  as  the 
Quaker  said.  Why  not,  Davy  ?" 

"Because  a  peevish,  nervous  invalid 
wouldn't  have  a  wide-awake  girl  like 
Mira  around.  And  her  headaches  and 
hysterics  would  kill  a  healthy  per- 
son to  hear  of;  though  Aunt  Clarissa 
thrives  on  them." 

"  Why>  Davy,  my  visits  there  are 
always  pleasant." 

"  They  never  lessen  your  hotel-bills, 
I  notice;  and  if  you  don't  want  an  ex- 
plosion in  the  family,  don't  put  a  red- 


hot  coal  into  a  gas-bag  !  Now,  there 
is  a  seminary  .within  a  day's  jour- 
ney cf  Philadelphia,"  Davy  continued, 
"  where  Uncle  Dave  wanted  me  to 
go  two  years  ago.  He  is  acquainted 
with  the  preceptress,  and  said  she  was 
the  loveliest  and  most  accomplished 
lady  and  most  earnest  Christian  he 
ever  knew ;  he  could  not  say  enough 
in  her  praise.  If  he  had  a  dozen  chil- 
dren, he  said  he  would  send  them  all 
to  Miss  Caldwell  to  be  educated." 

"  Is  it  an  expensive  school  ?"  asked 
Mrs.  Morgan. 

"  No ;  that  was  its  chief  recom- 
mendation, as  far  as  I  was  concerned ; 
for  Uncle  Dave  did  not  know  much 
about  the  school,  except  in  Miss 
CaldwelFs  department.  But  he  was 
dead  sure  everything  was  right  where 
she  ruled." 

"  Perhaps  it  would  be  right  to 
speak  of  that  school  to  him.  A  girl 
of  Miriam's  age  needs  some  one  to 
attend  to  her  health,  her  dress,  and 
associates,  as  much  as  to  teach  her 
book-knowledge." 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Dave  will  recommend 
his  favorite,  you'll  see.  But  how 
about  her  clothes  ?" 

"There  is  that  wool  delaine  of 
mine — it's  not  at  all  soiled — I  think 
that  will  make  over  nicely  for  a  best 
dress ;  and  with  two  good  ginghams 
for  every  day,  she  will  get  along  very 
well." 

"A  made-over  dress  for  best !"  ex- 
claimed Davy,  contemptuously,  as  Ja- 
mie said, 

"  But  that's  your  best,  mother." 

"  Yes,  my  son  ;  but  I  can  wear  my 
old  pongee  a  little  longer." 

Davy  threw  hiiv,s?lf  at  her  feet,  and 


102 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


laid  his  head  in  her  lap.  "  You  shall 
'walk  in  silk  attire'  one  of  these  days, 
you  dear,  generous  little  mother ! 
And  there  is  a  remnant  of  blue  in  the 
store  that  will  trim  your  fawn-colored 
delaine  just  gay.  Oh,  I  guess  we  can 
iix  Mira  up  in  style,  after  all !  She's 
the  kind  of  a  girl  that  looks  pretty 
in  everything.  There  she  comes  with 
Jack  now." 

"Don't  say  anything  about  it  to 
her  until  we  are  sure  she  can  go," 
said  Jamie.  And  the  conference 
ceased. 

The  semi-weekly  mail  carried  the 
two  letters  to  Mr.  Walton's  office,  and 
as  soon  as  possible  the  answers  were 
returned.  The  school  of  which  Davy 
had  spoken  was  warmly  recommend- 
ed, and  arrangements  were  immediate- 
ly made  for  Miriam's  entrance  at  the 
Ellensport  Seminary  in  the  fall.  The 
preparations  were  kept  secret  from 
Mr.  Morgan,  in  order  to  postpone  and 
abbreviate  the  storm  sure  to  come 
when  their  intentions  for  Miriam 
were  revealed.  She  was  to  accom- 
pany Jamie  to  Philadelphia,  where 
her  uncle  would  take  charge  of  and 
transfer  her  to  the  care  of  his  friend, 
Miss  Caldwell,  to  whom  a  letter  had 
already  been  addressed  by  Mrs.  Mor- 
gan, describing  Miriam's  disposition 
and  desires.  In  return,  came  a  long 
pleasant  reply.  "The  Seminary," 
Miss  Caldwell  wrote,  "  was  beautiful- 
ly situated  in  sight  and  sound  of  the 
sea,  with  a  grove  of  pines  at  its  back. 
Although  established  a  comparative- 
ly brief  period,  and  having  many  dif- 
ficulties to  overcome  on  account  of 
the  prejudice  existing  against  board- 
ing-schools for  the  education  of  op- 


posite sexes,  yet  so  watchful  was  their 
government,  so  unceasing  their  care, 
and  so  perfect  all  the  arrangements 
for  instructing  the  youth  of  the  land, 
that  already  three  hundred  young  la- 
dies and  gentlemen  were  under  their 
charge — even  a  larger  number  expect- 
ed the  coming  year." 

A  month  later  brought  the  hour 
of  parting.  Miriam  ran  from  house 
to  house,  laughing  and  crying,  kiss- 
ing and  being  kissed,  the  excitement 
subduing  her  grief,  until  the  wagon 
which  was  to  carry  herself  and  Jamie 
to  the  station  stood  before  the  door. 
Jack  was  standing  in  the  kitchen, 
and  the  affectionate  girl  threw  her- 
self into  his  arms. 

"  Oh,  Jack,  my  dear,  good  Jack !" 
she  sobbed,  "how  I  shall  miss  you! 
You'll  write  me,  won't  you?  And 
don't  let  mother  work  too  hard — you 
can  help  her  in  so  many  ways;"  and 
she  darted  off  to  find  her  mother, 
who  was  seeking  the  strength  she 
needed  beside  the  old,arm-chair.  She 
opened  the  door  at  Miriam's  hasty 
tap,  and  clasped  her  daughter  to  her 
heart.  Her  peaceful  face  calmed  the 
girl,  who  listened  quietly  to  her  part- 
ing counsel,  and  replied, 

"I  mean  to  be  very  good,  mother; 
and  I  shall  tell  you  all  I  do,  think,  or 
feel.  Father  was  very  angry  when 
he  went  away ;  but  I  mean  to  improve 
so  much  that  he  can't  help  seeing 
you  did  right  in  sending  me  away." 
And  she  threw  her  arms  once  more 
around  her  mother's  neck,  and  sobs 
choked  the  good-bye. 

"  Come,  Mira,  the  wagon  is  wait- 
ing." (Davy  quelled  the  tears  with 
a  forced  laugh.)  "  Stop  crying,  for 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


103 


Bruce  is  looking  dangerous ;  he  thinks 
somebody  has  hurt  you." 

The  dog  was  growling  viciously, 
as  he  stood  by  his  mistress's  side. 
"The  dear  old  darling !"  she  said,  giv- 
ing his  shaggy  head  a  hug.  "Don't 
you  die  while  I'm  gone,  nor  let  bad 
dogs  catch  my  rabbits.  Now, let's  go." 

Davy  sprang  to  the  driver's  seat, 
Jamie  seated  himself  beside  his  sister, 
and  they  were  gone.  Two  weeks  later 
the  mail-carrier  brought  this  letter: 

"  MY  OWN  PRECIOUS  MOTHER,  —  I 
think  I  am  going  to  like  it  very  much. 
I  got  here  yesterday.  Uncle  Dave 
introduced  me  to  the  preceptress. 
She  is  lovely ;  she  looks  so  sweet  and 
gentle!  The  girls  all  like  her.  I 
know  five  of  the  girls,  and  there  are 
one  hundred  and  sixty.  There  are 
great  long  halls  without  any  carpets, 
and  we  have  to  wear  slippers.  Uncle 
got  me  some.  The  rooms  are  on  each 
side.  They  all  have  numbers  on  the 
doors.  Mine  is  87.  The  girl  I  room 
with  is  my  chum;  she  is  little,  and 
real  nice,  and  very  polite,  but  I  don't 
think  she  likes  me.  Uncle  David  got 
me  a  new  dress — it  is  blue — and  black 
velvet  ribbon  to  trim  it.  Miss  Cald- 
well  is  going  to  have  it  made.  Give 
my  love  to  the  boys  and  to  Bruce. 
Kiss  Robin  and  Bessie  for  me.  Give 
my  love  to  Morris  too.  Please  tell 
father  I  mean  to  learn  enough  to 
teach  school  and  pay  him  back  every 
cent.  I  do  hope  I  will  get  a  letter 
from  you  to-day.  My  chum  is  study- 
ing. She  does  sums  with  letters  and 
figures  mixed  up.  The  recitation- 


rooms  are  very  large.  One  has  black- 
boards all  around ;  another  has  maps. 
In  one  room  there  are  pictures  of  the 
human  body:  one  is  a  man  with  his 
skin  off,  and  another  of  just  the  bones. 
I  don't  think  that  a  bit  nice.  Chum 
says  we  have  got  to  learn  the  names 
of  all  the  veins,  and  muscles,  and 
bones.  Uncle  is  going  to  take  me 
out  riding,  and  Miss  Caldwell  too. 
Chum  has  such  beautiful  clothes.  But 
my  dress  is  real  nice  too.  You  were  so 
good  to  give  it  me.  No  more  at  pres- 
ent from  your  very  loving  daughter, 
"  MIRIAM  MORGAN. 

"P.S.  —  There  are  five  professors, 
and  four  lady  teachers.  This  is  the 
first  letter  I  ever  wrote. 

"P.S. — My  chum's  name  is  Dora 
Montgomery. 

"P.S. — I  have  been  'way  up  in  the 
belfry  and  seen  the  ocean.  It  look- 
ed just  like  the  sky,  but  through  the 
telescope  I  could  see  ships.  Uncle  is 
going  to  take  me  there  to-morrow. 
I  am  so  glad." 

But  the  next  day  brought  a  cold 
east  wriud  and  rain.  Monday  morn- 
ing summoned  Mr.  Walton  away,  and 
the  June  roses  were  fading  before 
Miriam's  eyes  were  more  than  tan- 
talized by  sight  of  the  ocean,  whose 
deep,  incessant  roar  suggested  its 
fathomless  depths  and  boundless  ex- 
tent to  the  earnest,  restless  heart  of 
the  girl,  creating  an  intense  longing 
for  a  nearer  view  of  its  foam-capped 
waves,  and  to  hear  more  distinctly 
the  solemn  tones  which  seemed  to 
syllable  the  yearning  of  the  world. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


"Friend  of  my  heart,  and  foremost  of  the  list 
Of  those  with  whom  I  lived  supremely  blest ; 
Oft  have  we  drained  the  fount  of  earthly  love, 
Though  drinking  deeply,  thirsting  still  for  more : 
And  when  confinement's  lingering  hour  was  done 
Our  sports,  our  studies,  and  our  souls  were  one." 


MONTHS  passed,  and  Miriam's  fre- 
quent letters  grew  longer  and  less 
laconic.  The  seminary,  a  six-storied, 
hastily  constructed  brick  building, 
erected  between  and  joining  a  stone 
church  and  a  wooden  academy,  was 
graphically  described,  and  the  pecu- 
liarities of  each  teacher  portrayed 
— pen-and-ink  portraits  aiding  the 
words ;  while  the  best  qualities  and 
weak  points  were  depicted  with  a 
subtle  insight  of  character  unusual  in 
one  so  inexperienced. 

"I  feel  as  though  I  were  on  another 
planet,  mother  dear ;  life  is  so  differ- 
ent here.  Instead  of  being  awaken- 
ed by  the  birds  singing  in  the  apple- 
trees  or  the  men  whistling  on  their 
way  to  the  barn,  I  am  roused  by  the 
ding-a-ling-clang  of  a  big  bell,  passing 
my  door  as  it  goes  up  one  side  of  the 
hall  and  down  the  other.  I  often  lie 
still  with  my  eyes  shut,  and  imagine 
how  that  bell  must  look  swinging 
itself  along  with  such  a  deafening 
clangor,  and  if  it  weren't  so  ddrk  and 
cold  I  would  get  up  some  time  and 
take  a  peep  at  it ;  but  when  I  spoke 


BYEON. 

of  it,  Chum  said  I  was  a  goose — that 
it  was  only  the  watchman  ringing  the 
rising  bell !  Now,  Chum  is  always 
up  and  dressed  when  the  horrible 
thing  goes  by;  so  she  must  know. 
In  fact,  I'm  not  sure  she  sleeps  at  all ; 
for  she  is  at  her  desk  writing  when 
I  close  my  eyes,  and  poring  over  a 
book  when  I  open  them.  After  the 
horrible  noise  has  ceased  outside,  I 
hear  her  voice  saying,  *  You  will  be 
too  late  for  prayers  !'  That  made  me 
jump  at  first;  it  sounded  awful — as 
though  the  end  of  the  world  h-ad 
come ! — and  I  had  a  terrible  dream 
about  the  rocks  falling,  and  people 
rushing,  when  ding-dong!  went  the 
big  chapel  bell,  and  the  doors  were 
slamming,  and  the  girls  running  down- 
stairs, and  I  icas  too  late  to  get  in  the 
chapel  that  time ;  for  the  door  is  lock- 
ed when  the  bell  stops  ringing.  Af- 
ter prayers  we  have  half  an  hour  to 
put  our  rooms  in  order.  Dora  is  so 
neat  and  orderly  that  she  dreaded 
having  a  chum;  but  we  agree  in  all 
our  habits  so  far,  and  take  turns  in 
keeping  our  room  in  order,  which  is 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


105 


no  easy  matter,  with  all  the  litter  of 
our  sleeping,  dressing,  studying,  and 
writing.  Yesterday  morning  when  I 
was  getting  my  history  lesson  (it  was 
about  the  Indian  wars  in  1684,  when 
De  Barre,  the  Governor  of  Canada, 
thought  he  could  scare  the  chiefs  into 
submission  to  the  French),  I  could  not 
make  myself  remember  it ;  so  I  put 
some  books  in  the  middle  of  the  floor 
for  a  camp-fire,  and  stood  chairs 
around  for  the  Indians,  and  a  pillow 
for  the  Frenchman,  and  then  making 
believe  I  was  Garrongula,  the  chief 
of  the  Onondaga  tribe,  I '  walked  five 
or  six  times  around  the  circle,' just  as 
he  did,  and  then  began  his  'bold  sar- 
castic speech.'  I  had  got  as  far  as 
'Hear,  Yonnondio !  What  I  say  is 
the  voice  of  the  Five  Nations,'  when, 
rat -tap -tap!  came  a  knock  at  my 
door.  I  tried  to  pick  up  the  books 
and  the  pillow  and  put  back  the  chairs 
all  at  once,  when  the  door  opened, 
and  there  stood  the  preceptress  and 
a  lady  and  gentleman  visitor.  Miss 
Caldwell  frowned,  and  the  visitors 
stared.  I  could  not  say  a  word,  but 
the  preceptress  said,  'I  shall  mark 
you  for  disorder,  Miss  Morgan,'  and 
shut  the  door.  I  was  afraid  Chum 
would  be  awfully  put  out,  but  she 
only  laughed,  and  said  the  teachers 
often  showed  her  room  because  it 
looked  the  nicest ;  and  she  hoped  this 
would  put  a  stop  to  it. 

"  We  have  half  an  hour  for  break- 
fast, but  generally  get  through  in  fif- 
teen minutes.  Then  some  of  the 
girls  take  a  walk ;  but  it  is  awfully 
poky  going  down  a  back  street  with 
one  teacher  ahead  and  one  behind  us ; 
so  Chum  and  I  run  up  to  our  room 


and  go  to  studying.  At  eight  o'clock 
the  chapel  bell  rings ;  there  are  nine 
classes  to  recite  then.  In  forty  min- 
utes it  rings  again,  and  there  is  a 
crowd  going  up  and  down  stairs  and 
in  and  out  of  recitation-rooms  every 
forty  minutes  all  day,  or  until  five 
o'clock,  when  we  all  go  to  chapel 
for  evening  prayers.  The  roll  is 
called ;  then  one  professor  reads  a 
chapter  from  the  Bible;  then  we  all 
stand  up  while  another  professor 
prays;  then  another  reads  a  hymn, 
and  one  of  the  music-teachers  plays 
it  on  the  melodeon  while  we  all  sing. 
There  is  a  chapel  choir,  and  I  am  in 
it,  and  sit  on  the  front  seat  with  some 
gentlemen.  There  are  a  good  many 
more  gentlemen  than  ladies  here,  and 
some  of  them  are  real  nice.  All  the 
faculties  (oughtn't  it  to  be  written 
plural  when  there  are  nine  of  them? 
'  No,'  Chum  says)— well,  all  the  facul- 
ty want  every  student  to  enter  the 
course ;  that  means,  take  up  ever  so 
many  studies  that  I  don't  see  a  bit  of 
sense  in  and  haven't  any  use  for; 
study  all  night  and  recite  all  day  (as 
Chum  does),  and  have  headaches,  and 
weak  eyes,  and  no  leisure  to  write 
letters,  or  take  walks,  or  have  a  bit 
of  fun ;  and  in  two  or  three  years 
stand  up  on  the  stage  in  the  chapel, 
with  a  face  as  white  as  one's  dress,  to 
receive  a  diploma.  The  graduating 
class  for  this  year  are  horrid-looking 
frights;  and  Chum  —  she  is  in  next 
year's  class  —  looks  almost  as  bad. 
She  has  thirteen  studies  :  geology  and 
geometry,  and  analogy  and  anatomy, 
and  French  and  German  and  Latin :  I 
can't  begin  to  tell  you  all.  She  con- 
fesses '  she  don't  understand  half  she 


106 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


learns,  and  don't  half  learn  what  she 
recites.'  I  just  say  over  the  words — 
to  think  what  they  all  mean  would 
make  me  crazy !  she  said  just  now, 
when  I  asked  her  to  explain  this 
sentence  which  she  had  written :  '  If 
the  major  premises  be  negative,  and 
we  draw  a  universal  conclusion,  the 
minor  term  which  was  undistributed 
in '  the  minor  premises  (being  the 
predicate  of  an  affirmative  proposi- 
tion) will  be  distributed  in  the  con- 
clusion (being  the  subject  of  a  uni- 
versal) ;  we  would  therefore  have  an 
illicit  process  of  the  minor  term.' 
Now,  what  good  will  learning  that 
do  anybody  ?  I  would  like  to  learn 
about  flowers  and  plants;  but  it 
seems  wicked  to  pull  the  lovely  lit- 
tle things  to  pieces.  I  went  into 
the  botany  class  yesterday,  and  they 
had  some  prince's  -  pine  and  arbutus 
on  the  table.  The  sight  and  the 
smell  made  me  think  of  home,  and  of 
Bruce  and  I  hunting  for  blossoms  be- 
fore the  snow  was  all  off  the  ground, 
and  how  the  sweet,  precious,  cunning 
little  things  peeped  out  at  me  from 
under  their  broad,  rough  leaves,  and 
how  I  went  down  on  my  knees  and 
put  my  hands  under  them  to  lift  them 
out  of  their  mossy  bed,  and  could 
have  cried  for  gladness  at  finding 
them.  They  seemed  so  cosy  and  com- 
fortable, I  could  not  bear  to  cut  them 
off  the  vine;  so  I  brought  them  home 
to  3'ou,  bed  and  all.  Do  you  remem- 
ber? 

"Probably  I  lost  the  first  of  the  les- 
son thinking  of  that,  and  Avishing  I 
could  have  one  little  tiny  flower  to 
look  in  my  face,  and  tell  me  about  the 
woods,  when  the  teacher  called  'Miss 


Montgomery,'  and  handed  her  just 
the  loveliest  pink  arbutus,  asking  her 
to  give  its  analysis;  and  Chum  just 
picked  the  dear  little  flower  all  to 
pieces,  and  said  it  was,  'JZpigcea :  Suf- 
fruticose ;  corolla,  hypocrateriform ; 
anthers  dehiscent.'  And  then  a  gen- 
tleman took  the  trailing  moss  you  put 
around  the  looking-glass,  and  said  it 
was,  'ChimapkHa  umbelleta:  Leaves 
cunate-lanceolate,  serrate ;  flowers  cor- 
ymbose.' And  a  stem  of  winter-green, 
with  only  two  little  leaves  and  one 
berry,  was  '  Gaultheria  :  Procumbose ; 
pedicels  bibracteolate,  denticulate ; 
leaves  obovate  mucronate,  denticu- 
late,' and  ever  so  much  more  of  it.  I 
know  you  told  me  which  is  the  cup 
and  the  crown,  and  the  petals  and 
stamens,  and  the  names  of  almost  ev- 
ery plant  about  home,  and  what  they 
are  good  for;  and  I  want  to  know 
about  all  flowers;  but  learning  pages 
of  names  will  not  teach  me.  Chum's 
brother  (who  is  'way  down  in  Texas) 
sent  her  some  flowers  in  a  paper,  ask- 
ing their  names  and  medicinal  quali- 
ties. She  counted  their  leaves,  and 
described  their  shape  with  a  lot  of 
long  words,  yet  could  not  tell  him 
anything  he  wanted  to  know.  Now, 
I  should  think  a  description  of  a  plant 
ought  to  make  a  name,  and  the  name 
ought  to  tell  one  how  it  looks,  or  what 
it  is  for,  as  plain  as  red  raspberry,  or 
catnip,  or  morning-glory;  and  why 
couldn't  it  ?  Dora  says  if  I  will  learn 
Latin  I  can  understand  it  better;  but 
how  absurd  to  go  to  a  dead  language 
to  learn  about  living  things!  I  am 
very  anxious  to  learn  about  the  earth 
— how  different  kinds  of  rocks  were 
made,  and  all  that;  but  there  are  long 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


107 


lists  of  words  again  that  mean  noth- 
ing, and  what  is  given  as  a  fact  in  one 
geology  is  contradicted  in  another. 
What  are  the  Exact  Sciences,  moth- 
er ?  Nothing  seems  exact  but  the  mul- 
tiplication-table. All  there  is  to  be 
gained  by  studying  these  books  is 
learning  what  other  people  have 
thought,  and  then  thinking  it  out  for 
one's  self. 

"Dora  and  I  have  been  talking  while 
I  have  written,  and  she  says  our  minds 
are  supposed  to  be  like  the  Indian's 
stomach  her  brother  writes  about. 
They  starve  for  weeks,  and  then  stun0 
and  stuff  to  last  for  weeks  to  come. 
So  she  hopes  all  she  is  cramming  into 
her  mind  will  digest  by-and-by,  and 
make  her  brain  stronger  and  wiser. 
Chum  is  very  wise  now;  she  knows 
about  everything  I  ask  her.  She  will 
be  rich  and  famous  some  day,  she 
says;  and  she  writes  stories  and 
verses  for  the  papers  now,  and  gets 
money  for  them  sometimes.  Then 
she  writes  the  best  essays  of  anybody, 
and  reads  them  on  the  stage  before  all 
the  students,  and  a  lot  of  down-town 
people. 

"And  now,  O  mother  dear !  I  must 
tell  you  something  that  troubles  me 
very  much.  I  wrote  about  my  having 
to  write  compositions.  Well,  I  did 
not  mind  tha*t;  but  I  could  not  stand 
up  before  the  preceptress  and  all  my 
class  and  read  them.  If  it  had  been 
anybody  else's  thoughts,  I  wouldn't 
mind  it  a  bit.  So  I  asked  Jennie 
Purcell  to  exchange  compositions  with 
me,  and  she  did.  The  next  time  she 
asked  me  if  I  wanted  to  trade  again, 
and  as  I  could  not  read  hers  easily, 
I  copied  it  before  I  went  into  class. 


After  reading,  we  laid  them  on  Miss 
Caldwell's  desk  to  be  corrected.  When 
she  gathered  them  up,  she  said, '  Here 
is  one  without  a  signature ;  is  it  yours, 
Miss  Morgan  ?'  « Yes,'  I  said,  for  it 
was  the  one  I  had  just  read.  I  wanted 
to  explain,  but  couldn't  before  all  the 
girls,  and,  too,  I  was  afraid  she  would 
make  me  read  my  own  next  time. 
Well,  in  a  few  days  Jennie  was  pro- 
moted to  the  public  class,  and  so  she 
came  to  me  to  write  her  essay.  I  did 
not  feel  right  about  it,  but  she  said 
she  had  exchanged  just  to  accommo- 
date me,  and  my  style  was  so  different 
from  hers  that  the  preceptress  would 
notice  it  immediately,  and  then  she 
would  be  disgraced.  I  told  her  I 
would  go  to  Miss  Caldwell  and  ex- 
plain, but  she  declared  that  would 
make  it  worst  of  all ;  for  she  would  be 
put  back  in  the  composition  class,  and 
all  the  students  would  know  about  it; 
and  then  she  cried,  and  said  she  never 
would  try  to  do  a  kind  thing  again  to 
please  anyone  ;  for  folks  that  asked  fa- 
vors, and  got  other  folks  into  disgrace, 
were  just  the  ones  that  wouldn't  turn 
their  hand  over  to  help  them  out.  Of 
course  I  wrote  her  essay,  and  last  Fri- 
day night  she  stood  up  in  a  pink  lawn 
dress,  and  read  it  before  an  audience 
of  over  six  hundred.  It  sounded  very 
well,  and  they  cheered  her  and  threw 
bouquets.  And  now  I  know  she  will 
come  to  me  for  her  next  essay,  and  I 
will  have  to  write  it ;  but  I  shall  nev- 
er read  another  composition  of  hers  as 
my  own.  Well,  I  must  stop  writing 
now,  for  the  bell  has  rung  for  lights 
out.  Chum  always  puts  the  extin- 
guisher on  her  little  fluid  lamp  the 
minute  the  bell  rings  ;  then  she  drops 


108 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


the  curtain  and  lights  it  again.  Lots 
of  girls  do  that;  they  have  to,  if  their 
lessons  are  perfect.  And  Chum  takes 
some  kind  of  medicine  to  make  her 
sleep  nights,  and  a  few  drops  of  the 
same  stuff  to  keep  her  awake  in  the 
daytime.  She  says  she  is  going  to 
stop  it  as  soon  as  she  has  caught  up 
with  her  class ;  for  though  she  is 
ahead  of  them  all  in  belles-lettres,  and 
has  read 'most  everything,  she  is  away 
behind  them  in  mathematics ;  for  she 
is  putting  the  three  years'  course  into 
two  years. 

"Tuesday  Morning. — I  have  just  got 
the  nicest  letter  from  Uncle  Dave — 
it  came  in  one  to  Miss  Caldwell — and 
says  I  may  begin  music-lessons  right 
away.  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  !  I  wanted 
to  ever  so  much,  but  it  costs  twelve 
dollars,  so  I  didn't  say  anything 
about  it.  And  our  professor  of  vocal 
music  says  he  will  give  me  private 
lessons  if  I  will  assist  him  in  teach- 
ing a  primary  class.  Isn't  everything 
just  splendid  !  This  letter  is  very 
long  ;  I  have  been  two  weeks  writing 
it ;  but,  before  closing,  I  must  tell  you 
about  our  darning  society.  You  know 
we  do  our  own  mending  every  Satur- 
day, and  so  I  proposed  our  meeting  in 
each  other's  rooms  with  our  work, 
and  having  some  fun  over  it.  We 
organized  last  Saturday  with  three 
officers — president,  monitor,  and  critic. 
Every  member  is  to  give  us  a  story,  a 
song,  or  an  original  conundrum  or  rid- 
dle ;  failing  once,  she  is  suspended ; 
failing  on  the  next  attendance,  expel- 
led. They  elected  me  president, 
though  I  voted  for  Dora ;  she  was 
made  critic,  and  Virginia  Parry  moni- 
tor. Virgie  is  a  very  dignified,  lady- 


like girl,  and  she  insists  we  shall  sit 
straight  while  sewing,  and  not  raise 
the  roof  when  we  laugh.  Well,  we 
had  the  jolliest  fun.  Chum  told  a 
story  about  *  her  darter,  Sally  Jones's, 
settin'  eout.'  I  shall  coax  her  to  tell 
it  to  you  and  the  boys  if  she  comes 
home  with  me  next  vacation ;  and  I 
do  hope  she  will,  for  she  has  never 
lived  in  the  real,  sure  enough  country, 
and  it  would  do  her  good.  "Well,  we 
just  screamed  with  laughter,  and  our 
monitor  rapped  on  the  table,  and  call- 
ed 'Miss  President!  Miss  President!' 
and  I  tried  to  say,  '  Order,  ladies !' 
when  Dora  would  make  iip  the  fun- 
niest face,  and  say  something  comical 
about  the  'six  cracked  plates  that  were 
jest  as  good  as  new,'  and  we  would 
all  shout  out  again.  In  the  midst  of 
the  fun  Miss  Caldwell  rapped — I  knew 
she  would — but  no  one  else  heard  her, 
and  I  opened  the  door  quietly,  and  she 
stepped  in.  All  sat  on  the  floor  in  a 
circle  around  Chum,  with  their  eyes  on 
her ;  and  if  they  savy  the  preceptress, 
they  pretended  not  to,  and  Chum 
went  right  on  with  her  story  —  and 
she  is  the  greatest  mimic  I  ever  saw ; 
she  beats  Davy  all  to  pieces — and  in 
a  minute  Miss  Caldwell  was  holding 
on  to  her  sides,  and  tears  of  laughter 
were  running  down  her  face,  when 
Dora  suddenly  sprang  to  her  feet,  say- 
ing, *  Young  ladies,  I  am  surprised  at 
such  levity  in  the  preceptress's  pres- 
ence !'  She  couldn't  scold,  of  course, 
but  wiped  her  eyes  and  said  she  hoped 
we  wouldn't  be  rude,  and  suggested 
an  unfurnished  room  in  the  attic  as  a 
place  of  future  meeting.  That  was  a 
good  idea ;  so  we  have  swept  it,  and 
brushed  down  the  cobwebs,  and  are 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


109 


going  up  there  next  Saturday.  Well, 
we  had  two  or  three  more  stories,  and 
I  sang  a  Scotch  song  I  learned  from 
Bessie,  and  we  had  some  riddles  to 
guess.  All  the  stockings  were  mend- 
ed after  a  fashion.  When  the  first 
bell  for  supper  rang,  I  had  just  got 
iu  a  frolicking  humor,  but  Dora  was 
doleful  as  a  gravestone.  That  is  the 
only  thing  I  don't  like  about  Chum ; 
sometimes  she  is  gay  and  very  happy, 
and  sometimes  silent  and  sad  for  days 
together.  When  she  wants  to  talk,  I 
let  my  tongue  loose ;  and  when  she 
don't,  and  I  can't  keep  still,  I  run 
away.  I  am  in  Miss  Caldwell's  par- 
lor real  often.  She  is  just  as  sweet 
and  good  as  anybody  can  be,  though 
lots  of  the  girls  say  she  is  cross,  and 
too  strict,  because  they  are  too  lazy 
or  ugly  to  do  right.  Now,  mother 
dear,  I  shall  have  to  put  two  stamps 
on  this  letter,  and  please  don't  let  the 
boys  open  it  in  the  store,  but  just 
read  parts  of  it  to  them.  Give  my 
love  to  them  all,  and  to  Bruce  too. 
From  your  daughter  MIRIAM." 

The  next  week  brought  a  letter 
from  Ellensport,  addressed  by  a 
strange  hand.  It  read : 

"Mr  DEAR  MRS.  MORGAN, — Please 
do  not  be  alarmed  at  what  I  am  about 
to  tell  you.  Your  daughter  has  met 
with  an  accident,  but  the  doctor  says 
it  is  not  serious.  If  she  had  not  been 
so  brave,  so  heroic,  so  unselfish,  it 
would  never  have  happened.  She 
might  have  remained  uninjured  and 
unscarred,  though  probably  our  semi- 
nary building  and  all  its  contents 
would  now  be  a  smouldering  ruin; 


and  Heaven  alone  knows  how  many 
lives  might  have  been  devoured  by 
the  fiery  element.  But  I  will  hasten 
to  give  particulars.  Yesterday  morn- 
ing we  arose  as  usual  at  5  A.M.  A  lady 
student  rooming  next  to  Mira  and  me 
rapped  on  the  wall  to  ask  if  we  had 
any  fluid ;  her  lamp  was  empty,  and 
they  had  no  light.  The  morning  was 
rainy,  and  their  room  is  always  rather 
dark.  Mira  took  her  lamp  to  them, 
and  had  just  returned  to  finish  dress- 
ing, when  we  heard  a  scream.  Mira 
rushed  into  the  room,  which  seemed 
all  ablaze,  and  with  her  bare  hands 
tore  off  the  table-cover,  which  was  on 
fire,  and  stamped  out  the  flames  in  the 
carpet;  and  when  the  students, teach- 
ers, and  watchman  came  running  at 
the  cry  of  'Fire  !'  there  was  not  even 
a  spark  to  be  seen.  They  scolded  the 
girls  for  screaming,  and  praised  Miss 
Purcell  for  putting  out  the  fire ;  and 
then  we  all  went  down  to  breakfast. 
I  thought  Mira  had  gone  too,  and,  as 
we  do  not  sit  at  the  same  table,  did 
not  miss  her.  When  I  returned  to 
my  room,  there  stood  my  dear  chum 
at  the  open  window,  her  arms  out- 
stretched in  the  rain  and  wind,  and 
sobbing  so  pitifully !  Going  to  her, 
I  saw  her  poor  arms  were  burned  and 
blistered  to  her  elbows,  and  her  hands 
in  even  a  worse  state.  The  matron 
soon  came  and  dressed  them  in  In- 
dian-meal and  molasses.  This  in- 
creased her  suffering ;  but  now  she 
has  oil  and  flour  on  them,  which  .has 
eased  the  pain.  She  is  very  patient, 
though  she  can  neither  feed  nor  dress 
herself.  She  does  not  know  I  am 
writing  this ;  but  I  thought  you  ought 
to  know  all  about  it,  and  what  a 


110 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


brave,  sensible  daughter  you  have. 
Mira  now  sits  in  my  little  rocker  with 
her  arms  on  a  pillow  in  her  lap.  I 
got  excused  from  one  recitation  on 
plea  of  a  headache,  to  sit  by  her  and 
write  this  letter.  She  is  a  dear  girl ! 
I  love  her  more  than  anybody  living, 
unless  it  is  my  mamma  and  brother 
Bruce.  She  shall  not  lack  for  any- 
thing I  can  do,  though  I  lose  my 
standing  in  class.  With  respectful 
regards  to  my  dear  Mira's  mother, 
I  am  yours  truly, 

"DOEA  MONTGOMEEY." 

A  few  days  later  a  note  from  Miss 
Caldwell  enclosed  a  line  from  Mir- 
iam's own  hand,  assuring  her  mother 
that  already  she  was  able  to  study, 
and  the  pain  of  the  burn  decreasing. 

"  The  confusion  was  so  great  at  the 
time  of  the  accident" — the  precep- 
tress wrote — "  that  I  understood  Miss 
Morgan  to  be  the  cause  of  the  confla- 
gration, and  that  Miss  Purcell  extin- 
guished it.  It  was  so  reported  in  the 
chapel,  and  the  president  censured 
Miss  Morgan  severely.  Later,  how- 
ever, all  was  explained  by  Miss  Mont- 
gomery, who  is  very  enthusiastic  in 
praise  of  her  room-mate.  The  acci- 
dent was  caused  by  Miss  Purcell's 
attempting  to  pour  the  burning-fluid 
from  your  daughter's  lamp  into  her 
own  while  one  was  lighted;  a  thing 
not  likely  to  again  occur  in  the  lives 
of  any  students  here,  nor  in  the  his- 
tory of  this  school." 

Week  followed  week,  and  one  by 
one  the  school  duties  were  resumed ; 
but  the  bandaged  fingers  could  nei- 
ther use  slate  and  pencil  nor  practise 
the  music-lessons  just  begun. 


"Miss  Caldwell  told  me  to  ask  you 
to  come  to  her  parlor,  Mira,"  her 
room-mate  said  one  evening. 

The  girl  raised  herself  from  the 
bed  wearily;  "Anything  gone  wrong, 
Dora?" 

"  No,  I  think  not ;  she  looked  per- 
fectly radiant." 

Miriam  walked  slowly  down  the 
hall,  and  tapped  at  the  preceptress's 
door,  then  entered,  saying,  "Dora 
said"  —  gave  a  quick  scream  of  de- 
light, and  was  clasped,  sobbing,  in  her 
uncle's  arms. 

"My  precious  little  girl,"  he  said, 
kissing  her  again  and  again,  "I  did 
not  know  you  were  so  badly  burned, 
or  I  would  have  come  before.  But 
don't  cry  now,  when  you  are  almost 
well ;  for  I  have  a  nice  plan  to  pro- 
pose to  Miss  Caldwell  for  your  ben- 
efit. And  to-morrow,  if  we  can  ar- 
range it,  we  will  take  the  long-defer- 
red trip  to  the  sea-shore." 

It  was  soon  arranged.  Mr.  Walton 
was  to  call  with  a  carriage  at  eight 
o'clock  the  next  morning  for  Miss 
Caldwell,  Dora,  and  Miriam. 

"I'm  just  as  happy  as  I  can  be! 
But  oh,  if  mother  were  only  here!" 
she  exclaimed. 

Her  uncle  laughed.  "Consistent 
mortal !  perfectly  happy,  but —  Your 
mother  and  I  have  had  many  a  frolic 
on  the  sea-shore,  Birdie,"  he  said,  put- 
ting his  arms  around  her;  "and  if  you 
write  her  of  to-morrow's  jaunt,  it  will 
undoubtedly  recall  a  happy  day  she 
once  spent  with  me  at  Cape  May." 

These  poems  were  the  outgrowth 
of  the  day's  impressions : 

The  scent  of  roses  fills  the  nir, 

And  morning  clouds  a  rose  tint  wear! 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


ill 


The  breath  of  this  year's  rose  I  feel ; 
While  last  year's  rose  the  clouds  reveal. 
The  body  clasped  within  my  hand, 
The  spirit  floats  in  bright  cloud-land. 
O  earth  so  fair !  O  life  so  sweet ! 
O  sunlit  Ocean !  thee  we  greet, 
And  claim  a  kinship  now  with  thee, 
In  one  glad  song  of  ecstasy ! 

Lightly  the  bright  waves  kiss  the  shore, 
Rippling  with  laughter  evermore : 
Tossing  its  gifts  with  proud  disdain — 
Yet  'neath  its. mirth,  list  its  refrain ! 
Deep  and  sad  is  the  Ocean's  moan, 
A  lonely  yearning,  a  solemn  tone ! 
Bubbles  reflect  the  sunbeam's  ray 
Wrought  by  the  storm  of  yesterday : 
While  waves  that  shine  upon  the  sands 
Were  floating  ice  in  snow-bound  lands. 

My  mirth  thus  on  the  surface  lies, 
Reflects  the  light  of  happy  eyes, 
Thoughts  glide  from  cold  to  torrid  zone, 
And  make  their  chill  or  warmth  its  own. 
While  'neath  my  joy  is  hidden  pain  ; 
My  gnyest  song  a  sad  refrain. 


The  Ocean  was  out  for  a  holiday, 

And  so  were  we. 
We  love  to  leap,  and  dance,  and  play, 

And  so  does  he. 

We  saw  him  beckoning  foam-wreathed  hands, 
Then  met  him  on  the  shining  sands. 
And,  oh,  a  jolly  time  had  we 
Frolicking  with  the  grand  old  sea! 

A  blue  wave  trimmed  with  silvery  lace, 

Came  up  to  me. 
"Come,  child,"  it  said  :  I  gave  it  chase 

In  thoughtless  glee. 


It  turned  and  quickly  splashed  my  feet, 
Gave  me  no  time  to  make  retreat, 
Then  rippled  o'er  with  jollity : 
This  merriest,  maddest,  foam-capped  sea. 

"Take  that,"  I  said,  throwing  a  rubber  ball. 

It  disappeared ; 
Xo  mermaid  brought  it  at  my  call ; 

But,  as  I  feared 

My  ball  had  found  a  watery  grave, 
Henceforth  a  toy  in  Nereid's  cave, 
It  tossed  and  rolled  it  back  to  me : 
The  playful,  tricksy,  mirthful  sea ! 

But  hark  ye !     What  means  that  deep,  sullen 
roar? 

It  comes  more  near ! 
And  the  waves  look  dark,  and  fierce,  and  cold, 

And  the  sky  grows  drear. 
Oh,  deep  are  the  waters,  and  dark,  and  wide : 
Strong  and  far-reaching  its  ceaseless  tide ! 
Weak  atoms  beside  it,  frail  mites  are  we : 
I'm  frightened  at  thoughts   of  the  boundless 


One  soon  appeared  in  the  poet's  cor- 
ner of  a  county  newspaper — "  Writ- 
ten expressly  for  I\\Q  Luminary" — and 
the  other  was  tucked  away  in  a  wood- 
en box  beneath  all  the  clothing  in 
Miriam's  trunk. 

"  What  do  you  keep  in  that  box, 
Mira?"  Dora  inquired  one  day,  when, 
suddenly  entering  the  room,  she  found 
her  arranging  some  faded  flowers  and 
scraps  of  paper. 

"  Bottled  sunshine,  Chum, for  cloudy 
days,"  she  said,  closing  the  lid  quick- 
ly, and  putting  the  box  away. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

'Knowest  thou  Yesterday,  its  aims  and  reasons? 

Workest  thou  well  To-day  for  worthy  things  ? 
Then  calmly  wait  To-morrow's  hidden  season, 

And  fear  not  thou  what  fate  so'er  it  brings." 


CARLTLE. 


"  NINE  days,  eleven  hours,  and  thir- 
ty-five minutes  to  vacation  !  I'm  the 
gladdest  girl  you  ever  did  see,  mother 
dear;  for,  after  hesitating  so  long,Dora 
has  consented  to  come  home  with  me, 
and  I'm  just  bubbling  over  with  hap- 
piness. She  is  so  intensely  honora- 
ble that  she  insists  I  should  know  all 
about  her  past  life  before  she  would 
go  to  my  home.  Now,  I  do  hate  to 
know  people's  secrets !  I  feel  as  if 
carrying  a  key  to  their  trunk;  and 
if  anything  were  lost,  I  might  be 
thought  the  thief.  Besides,  I  have 
thoughts  I  cannot  tell,  and  I  am  per- 
fectly willing  she  should.  But  when 
I  saw  she  was  unhappy  about  it,  and 
said  she  never  would  enter  our  home 
until  you  knew  all  about  her,  I  con- 
sented to  listen ;  so  here  is  my  dear 
friend's  sad  history. 

"Her  father  was  an  actor,  and  her 
mother  ran  away  from  home  to  marry 
him.  She  was  disowned  by  all  her 
friends ;  and  when  her  father  died,  his 
property  went  to  her  brother,  Dora's 
uncle.  There  were  two  children — my 
chum  (Medora  Melinda  Montgomery), 
and  a  boy  thirteen  years  older  (Bruce 


Hamlet  Henry  Theodore  Montgomery). 
All  the  children  between  them  died 
when  they  wrere  babies.  Dora  cannot 
remember  her  father,  but  she  has  his 
picture  painted  on  ivory,  and  he  looks 
very  handsome,  though  his  face  does 
not  seem  strong  and  good.  But  Dora 
says  he  was  too  good  to  live,  and  so 
God  took  him.  I  think  they  were 
very  poor  while  he  lived,  and  Dora's 
mother  was  sick  all  the  time.  She 
says  the  first  thing  .she  remembers  is 
the  greenroom  of  a  theatre,  and  her 
delight  at  the  gay  dresses  of  the  ac- 
tresses. She  says  their  family  would 
all  have  died  had  it  not  been  for  the 
kindness  of  the  company  her  father 
belonged  to.  And  after  he  died  they 
supported  them  for  a  long  time,  her 
brother  doing  what  he  could  at  the 
theatre ;  and  Dora,  little  thing  as  she 
was,  they  carried  on  the  stage,  in  chil- 
dren's parts,  several  times.  After  a 
while,  Mrs.  Montgomery's  brother, 
who  was  a  widower  and  had  no  chil- 
dren, sent  for  her  to  come  and  live 
with  him.  He  has  educated  Bruce 
for  a  civil  engineer;  and  he  is  now 
surveying  lands  in  Texas.  Dora,  he 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


113 


expects,  will  be  a  teacher,  but  she 
means  to  make  money  by  writing 
books,  and  be  independent  of  her  un- 
cle very  soon.  She  is  determined  to 
graduate  with  honor,  as  a  diploma 
does  any  one  credit ;  and  to  write 
well  one  needs  to  know  something 
about  everything.  There!  now  you 
know  the  whole  of  it ;  and  I  know  it 
won't  make  one  bit  of  difference  with 
your  love  for  her :  you  will  pet  her 
the  more;  for  I  don't  think  she  ever 
had  much  petting.  Uncle  is  coming 
for  us,  and  we  are  going  to  stay  a 
day  or  two  in  Philadelphia,  and  then 
' Home,  home!  sweet,  sweet  home !' 

"P.S.—  Where  is  father?  Is  he 
willing  I  should  have  company?  I 
do  hope  he  will  like  Dora." 

The  day  or  two  in  Philadelphia 
lengthened  into  a  week.  Dora,  accus- 
tomed from  infancy  to  the  whims  of  a 
querulous  invalid,  adapted  herself  to 
Mrs.  Walton's  fancy,  coaxing  her  to 
join  in  their  pleasures,  or  remaining 
at  home  to  amuse  her,  leaving  Mr. 
Walton  free  to  accompany  Miriam  to 
evening  entertainments. 

"I  have  lived  in  the  city  all  my 
life,"  she  said,  resisting  Miriam's  ur- 
gent invitations ;  "  have  seen  both 
sides  of  stage  life,  and  really  prefer 
staying  with  Mrs.  Walton." 

"No  one  guessed  the  earnest  but 
futile  attempts  at  serious  conversa- 
tion, or  with  what  repugnance  she 
resumed  the  reading  of  the  French 
novel  handed  her ;  the  sneering  infidel- 
ity of  this  ailing  woman  being  hard- 
er to  endure  than  the  morbid  melan- 
choly of  her  mother.  But  at  last  the 
visit  was  ended ;  and  Miriam,  with 


many  new  scenes  and  sensations  to 
describe  to  the  loved  ones  at  home, 
resumed  her  journejr,  her  uncle  and 
Dora  accompanying  her.  The  Erie 
was  still  a  single-track  railroad,  and 
accidents  and  detentions  frequent. 
The  setting  sun  gilded  the  river,  and 
lingered  on  the  vine -covered  porch, 
where  Mrs.  Morgan  stood  waiting. 

"Is  the  train  so  late  to-night,  Ja- 
mie, or  am  I  very  impatient  ?"  she 
said,  looking  eagerly  down  the  depot 
road. 

"  Both,  mother.  Davy  went  half  an 
hour  sooner  than  he  need  to.  If  the 
travellers  are  as  hungry  as  I,  I  trust 
there's  a  bountiful  supper." 

"  Oh,  we  have  enough :  fricasseed 
chicken,  muffins,  maple  syrup,  straw- 
berries and  cream,  cottage  -  cheese — 
I  haven't  forgotten  Miriam's  favorites, 
nor  brother  David's  either." 

"Whew!  I'm  still  more  hungry! 
What  sort  of  a  girl  do  you  think  this 
friend  of  Miriam's  is  ?  She  is  too  en- 
thusiastic over  her  to  suit  me ;  I  don't 
think  I  shall  fancy  her." 

"Jamie,  do  you  remember  the 
young  man  who  boarded  here  for  a 
while  when  they  were  building  the 
railroad  ?  Theodore  we  called  him." 

"Yes;  why?" 

"I  half  believe,  recalling  several 
things  he  said,  that  he  is —  Ob,  there 
they  come  !  My  precious  daughter  !" 

Happy  days  followed.  Mrs.  Mor- 
gan often  joined  her  brother  in  long 
drives  about  the  country ;  and  once 
the  big  hay-wagon  carried  the  whole 
family,  including  Jack,  to  a  lake  four 
miles  away,  and  the  day  was  spent  in 
fishing,  picking  berries,  lounging  in 
the  shade,  and  cooking  the  perch  and 


114 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


pickerel,  gypsy  fashion,  for  their  pic- 
nic dinner. 

"I  feel  twenty  years  younger  for 
this  visit,"  Mr.  Walton  said,  on  the 
evening  of  his  departure. 

"And  I  —  oh,  uncle,  I  feel  older, 
wiser,  better,  for  every  hour  I  have 
spent  with  you  !  How  lonely  we  will 
be  without  you!"  And  Miriam  slip- 
ped her  hand  in  his,  as  she  joined  in 
his  walk  up  and  down  the  room. 

"Mira  almost  idolizes  her  uncle," 
Dora  said,  with  a  half-  sigh.  "  Had 
my  papa  lived,  I  fancy  he  would  have 
been  like  Mr.  Walton.  There  is  noth- 
ing can  atone  to  a  girl  for  a  father's 
loss.  She  needs  his  loving  counsel 
and  protection  more  and  more  as  she 
grows  older." 

"Cannot  a  mother's  love  make  up 
the  loss?" 

"  No,  ma'am,  I  think  not.  It  seems 
to  me  that  boys  need  a  mother's  gen- 
tle restraint  and  caressing  tenderness 
more  than  her  daughters  do.  But 
every  day  I  want  my  father !  A 
woman  sees  life  differently  from  a 
man.  She  must  look  at  it  through 
his  eyes  also,  if  she  sees  it  rightly. 
I  want  my  father's  criticism  in  my 
writing;  I  want  his  advice  in  my 
plans;  I  need  his  influence  with  edi- 
tors and  publishers.  But  he  is  gone  !" 

"My  dear  child,  did  you  never 
think  how  much  this  ideal  father  has 
helped  you  ?  I  once  had  a  sister  sev- 
eral years  older  than  myself:  she  died 
when  I  was  a  little  girl,  but  I  often 
heard  of  her  goodness  and  beauty — 
how  unselfish  she  was,  and  how  pa- 
tient during  a  long  illness.  And 
though  I  have  always  longed  for  her, 
I  believe  that  sister  has  been  a  great- 


er blessing   to  me   than  if  she  had 
lived." 

"  I  do  not  understand  that." 
"Why,  the  sister  I  love  and  have 
always  tried  to  imitate  is  something 
more  than  human :  she  is  perfect. 
Had  I  known  a  fault  in  her  character, 
she  would  have  had  less  influence." 

A  long  silence,  in  which  the  crick- 
et's chirr  and  the  far-away  whippoor- 
will's  song  blended,  but  did  not  break. 
Dora  drew  her  chair  closer  to  Mrs. 
Morgan,  and  mui-mured,  "Will  we 
know  our  friends  in  heaven,  do  you 
think?" 

"My  child,"  she  answered,  "  death 
has  always  been  a  very  real  thing  to 
me.  Nature  often  gives  me  warnings 
that  her  hold  can  be  quickly  broken ; 
and  I  have  often  fancied  what  the 
spirit  would  feel  when  released  from 
the  body.  Now  we  are  bound  by  the 
laws  of  matter.  We  see  a  place 
where  we  wish  to  be :  step  by  step, 
inch  by  inch,  we  go  on  until  it  is 
reached.  But,  freed  from  the  body, 
the  desire  would  take  us  there  with 
one  bound !  So  I  think  the  freed 
spirit  hovers  an  instant  till  a  desire 
stronger  than  all  others  propels  it  to 
that  object." 

"  I  should  fly  to  my  father's  arms !" 
"Those  who  have  friends  in  the 
spirit-land  love  them  for  some  special 
quality.  The  mother  loves  her  babe 
because  it  depends  on  her,  and  she 
has  suffered  for  it.  The  child  loves 
the  mother  because  it  trusts  and  needs 
her.  We  love  our  friends  for  their 
charity  or  sympathy.  Now,  all  these 
qualities  are  the  God  in  us  going  out 
to  the  God  in  them;  and  all  these 
qualities  diluted  and  perverted  in  us 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


115 


are  perfect  in  Christ.  If,  then,  our 
eyes  have  been  opened,  if  we  are  jus- 
tified by  his  love,  our  strongest  de- 
sire is  to  him,  always  to  him.  And 
when  we  put  off  this  body,  oh,  what 
bliss  to  see  him  as  he  is  !"  The  thin 
hands  clasped,  the  dark  eyes  closed, 
and  the  lips  parted  with  a  smile.  A 
moonbeam  struggling  through  vine- 
leaves  rested  on  her  face. 

Mr.  Walton  and  Miriam  paused  in 
their  walk.  "  Mary,"  he  said,  softly. 

Miriam  sprang  forward. 

"  Mother,  mother !  oh,  forgive  me !" 
as  Mrs.  Morgan  started  up.  "  I  thought 
— I  was  afraid —  Why,  you  looked  like 
an  angel!  And  you,  Dora,  do  come 
out  of  that  corner.  I  declare  you 
look  like  a  ghost  in  that  white  dress ! 
Let's  go  to  the  store,  and  see  what 
the  boys  are  doing ;  and  let  Uncle  Da- 
vid and  mother  have  an  old  -  fashion 
visit.  Jack  went  to  the  depot  this 
evening  with  a  lumber-Avagon  ;  maybe 
the  new  goods  have  come.  Oh,  don't 
it  seem,  good  to  be  free  to  run  out 
at  night?  I  felt  as  though  I  should 
break  every  one  of  those  exasperating 
rules  that  were  tacked  on  every  door 
— thirty-nine  separate  temptations  to 
rebellion.  I  have  wondered  if  Eve 
would  ever  have  looked  at  that  ap- 
ple-tree, if  there  had  been  no  '  Thou 
shalt  not'  pointing  her  to  it.  Oh, 
Dora,  what  do  you  say  to  going  to 
the  big  picnic  at  Chehocton  ?" 

"She -hawk -ton!  What  a  funny 
name !" 

"Yes,  the  Indians  called  it  Shau- 
wauetung — the  two  rivers  made  one. 
There  is  an  Indian  burying -ground 
there.  But  shall  we  go  to  the  pic- 
nic?" 


"  Oh,  Mira  !  don't  let's  go  anywhere, 
or  do  anything,  but  read,  and  rest,  and 
talk  with  your  mother.  And  I  would 
be  so  glad  to  learn  cooking  and  bak- 
ing. I  never  had  any  chance  to  learn 
before." 

"  That  will  suit  me,  for  I  have  lots 
of  sewing  to  do.  Uncle  says  I  can  go 
back  to  school  with  you,  and  I'm  so 
glad.  What  are  those  boys  about  ?" 

They  paused  before  the  open  door 
of  the  store.  Jamie  and  Jack  were  on 
their  knees  beside  a  box  on  the  floor, 
and  Davy  held  a  lamp  above  them. 

"What  are  they  doing?"  whispered 
Miriam. 

"Hush!  it  can't  be  a  secret  with 
the  door  wide  open.  Let's  keep  quiet 
and  watch  them." 

The  boys  slowly  raised  a  dark  shin- 
ing box  from  the  large  wooden  one  on 
the  floor. 

"Oh,  Dora!  it  looks  like  a  little 
coffin." 

"Hush!  hush!  I  know  what  it  is: 
it's  a  present  for  you.  Now,  don't 
let's  spoil  their  fun,  but  run  to  Mr. 
Morris's  for  a  little  while."  And, 
putting  her  arm  around  her,  she  drew 
her  down  the  road. 

"  A  present  ?  How  do  you  know  ? 
What  is  it?" 

"  Don't  be  so  inquisitive ;  it's  some- 
thing real  nice ;  and  I'll  give  you  les- 
sons, and  we'll  practise  duets  and  sing. 
There !  what  a  ridiculous  blunderer  I 
am !  But  don't  have  hysterics  over 
it ;  I  declare  if  she  isn't  laughing  and 
crying  all  together !  Lunar  rainbows 
trickling  down  her  cheeks." 

"  Oh,  Dora,  is  it  a  melodeon,  do  you 
think  ?  I'm  afraid  you  are  mistaken." 

"I  know  I  am  not;  but  you  wait 


116 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


and  see.  Don't  spoil  the  giver's 
pleasure  by  showing  you  know  all 
about  it." 

"  It  must  be  from  uncle,  and  he  has 
given  me  so  much  already.  How  can 
I  ever  repay  him  ?" 

"By  just  growing  up  the  true, 
brave,  energetic,  thorough-bred  lady 
he  expects  you  to  be.  Did  he  ever 
tell  you  he  knew  my  mamma  when 
she  was  a  young  lady  ?" 

"Why,  no!" 

"It  was  yesterday  when  we  were 
out  rowing,  he  and  Davy  and  I,  while 
you  were  getting  supper.  Some  non- 
sense I  said  to  Davy  made  him  look 
at  me  curiously,  and  I  feared  he 
thought  me  rude;  but  he  asked  sud- 
denly, '  What  was  your  mother's  maid- 
en name  ?'  '  Clara  Lemar,'  I  answer- 
ed. lTIien  that's  it,'  he  said.  'Again 
and  again  it  has  seemed  to  me  that  I 
had  known  you  before  we  met  at  El- 
lensport,  and  now  it  is  explained. 
Child,  I  danced  with  your  mother  at 
the  governor's  ball  in  Richmond ; 
called  upon  her,  sent  her  bouquets,  fol- 
lowed her  to  her  father's  plantation, 
and  might  have  thrown  hand,  heart, 
and  fortune  at  her  feet,  had  not  such 
a  crowd  of  admirers  surrounded  her 
continually  that  I  knew  she  would 
never  condescend  to  accept  the  best  I 
could  offer.  She  was  the  handsomest, 
most  fascinating  woman  I  ever  met. 
And  a  Mr.  Montgomery  won  the 
prize !  Was  he  a  resident  of  Rich- 
mond ?'  Just  fancy,  Mira,  how  hard 
it  was  for  me  to  hear  and  answer  that! 
I  only  told  him  that  my  father  was 
from  Xew  Orleans,  and  took  mamma 
there ;  that  her  health  failed,  and  she 
had  been  an  invalid  ever  since  I  could 


remember.  Then  came  another  queer 
turn  to  the  talk.  Davy  asked  me  if 
my  brother  Bruce  (how  absurd  to 
hear  you  call  that  homely,  cross  dog, 
-Z?rwce/),ifhehad— " 

"Homely?  Cross?  Why,  Dora 
Montgomery !  he  has  the  handsomest 
eyes,  and  he's  just  the  best — " 

"  Well,  there  ;  I  apologize !  I  re- 
spect his  age  if  I  cannot  admire  his 
beauty.  But  to  proceed  with  my 
story — let's  sit  down  on  this  log — 
Davy  asked  if  my  brother  was  not 
a  civil  engineer  on  this  railroad.  He 
said  there  was  a  young  man  named 
Theodore  Montgomery  boarded  at 
your  house  for  three  or  four  months 
while  they  were  building  the  road. 
I  could  not  tell  him,  but  I'm  going  to 
write  Bruce  about  it.  Wouldn't  it 
be  funny?  But  you're  not  half  lis- 
tening. Come,  we'll  walk  home  now." 

As  they  reached  the  cottage,  the 
sweet  harmony  of  melodeon  and  vio- 
lin wavered  in  the  air. 

"Oh,  it  is!  it  is  I"  And  with  a 
bound  Miriam  left  her  companion, 
hurried  through  the  gate,  rushed  up 
the  walk,  and  entered  the  room.  The 
music  ended  with  a  crash  of  chords 
and  loud  laughter  as  she  threw  her 
arms  around  the  musician's  neck,  cry- 
ing, "  Oh,  you  dear,  blessed  uncle !  I 
wanted  it  more  than  anything  else  in 
the  world.  Oh,  I'm  glad  as  glad  can 
be!" 

"Well,  well,  child!  I'm  glad  too; 
but  you  are  choking  and  thanking  the 
wrong  man.  This  is  the  boys'  gift." 

"  Oh,  Jamie !  Davy !  I'm  so  grate- 
ful! and  Jack"— with  a  timid,  ex- 
pectant tone — "  was  it  Jack,  too  ?" 

"Yes,   'twas    Jack's     suggestion,*' 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


117 


Davy  replied :  "  thoroughly  selfish  on 
his  part,  for  he  wanted  an  accompa- 
niment to  his  violin.  But  you  inter- 
rupted that  schottische  just  as  Jamie 
and  I  were  going  to  take  a  turn. 
Now  I'll  resign  him  to  you.  Miss 
Dora,  will  you  honor  me  for  the  next 
dance  ?  Now  go  ahead, fiddler!" 

Up  and  down,  round  and  round 
whirled  the  two  couples — faster  and 
faster  flew  the  violin-bow — laughing, 
panting,  till  snap !  went  a  violin-string; 
and  Jack  stooped  over  Mr.  Walton's 
shoulder,  and  whispered  three  words. 
"Better  pass  it  off  as  your  gift  and 
save  a  storm,"  he  added. 

Mr.  Walton  looked  perplexed,  trou- 
bled, as  he  gazed  searchingly  into 
Jack's  face.  "  Is  it  so  bad  as  that  ?" 
he  said. 

Jack  glanced  out  of  the  window, 
where  a  horseman  was  dismounting. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?"  the  dancers 
inquired.  "  Is  your  violin  broken  ?" 

"I  don't  believe  I  can  play  any 
more  to-night,"  putting  the  violin  into 
its  case;  "we'll  finish  that  dance  some 
other  time.  Isn't  that  somebody 
coming  here  ?" 

Miriam  glanced  through  the  win- 
dow. "  It  is  father !"  she  said,  her 
face  turning  pale,  as  she  went  to  her 
mother  and  put  her  hand  in  hers. 

Davy  caught  up  the  violin  and  car- 
ried it  up -stairs,  whispering  a  sen- 
tence in  his  uncle's  ear  as  he  passed 
him. 

Mr.  Walton  sprang  up  as  Mr.  Mor- 
gan entered.  "Ah,  how  do  you  do, 
John?  Come  near  missing  me  alto- 
gether, as  I  leave  to-morrow.  I 
brought  your  little  girl  back  safe  and 
well;  wiser,  and  prettier  too,"  as  Mir- 


iam came  shyly  forward  with  out- 
stretched hand,  and  raised  her  face  to 
be  kissed. 

The  father  took  the  caress  kindly, 
saying, "  I  see  she  is  taller,  and  I  guess 
she  looks  as  well  as  most  girls." 

"And  this,"  continued  Mr.  Walton, 
"is  another  one  of  my  girls  that  I'll 
lend  you  until  school  begins — Miss 
Dora  Montgomery,  Miriam's  room- 
mate." 

He  shook  hands  with  her.  "Your 
cheeks  are  too  thin  and  pale  for  a 
country  girl.  We'll  try  and  fat  you 
up-if  you  stay  here  all  summer.  Wife, 
I  haven't  had  any  dinner  or  supper 
to-day.  The  jury  was  a  set  of  fools ; 
decided  right  contrary  to  evidence  af- 
ter being  out  three  hours.  Had  no 
time  to  get  anything  to  eat  and  get 
home  to-night." 

"  Then  you  lost  the  suit  ?" 

"Yes,  it  went  against  me  this  time ; 
but  I  shall  carry  it  up.  What  have 
you  got  there  ?"  pointing  to  the  melo- 
deon. 

"  Why,  the  girls  have  taken  music- 
lessons  while  at  school,  and  I  don't 
want  them  to  forget  what  they  know ; 
so  they  have  an  instrument  to  prac- 
tise on." 

"Well,  if  it's  yours,  it  can  stay 
here ;  but  I'm  not  going  to  have  mon- 
ey wasted  on  such  fol-de-rols !  And  I 
don't  want  you  to  put  any  nonsense 
into  Miryum's  head.  She's  got  to  set- 
tle down  into  a  plain,  practical  house- 
keeper, like  her  mother,  some  day." 

"But  if  she  has  talents  for  some- 
thing higher,  you  have  no  objections 
to  their  development?" 

"Something  higher!  There  isn't 
anything  higher  than  doing  the  duties 


118 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


of  your  position  —  the  position  one  is 
born  to  fill.  My  children  have  their 
work  planned  before  them  every  day ; 
their  business  is  to  do  it  well.  AH 
this  talk  about  talents  and  spheres  is 
disgusting.  Miryum,  tell  your  moth- 
er to  make  some  good,  strong  tea ;  my 
head  aches.  Davy,  have  you  collect- 
ed that  note  of  Saul  Perkins  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Did  I  ever  tell  you  that  story 
about  Squire  Noyes  preaching  here, 
Walton?"  settling  himself  in  an  easy- 
chair.  "No?  "Well,  it's  a  pretty 
good  one.  You  see,  when  we  first 
came  here  my  wife  was  very  anxious 
to  have  religious  services  every  Sun- 
day ;  and  she  fitted  up  one  wing  of 
the  store  for  a  school,  and  got  me  to 
read  a  sermon  to  the  natives  one  Sun- 
day morning.  Then  she  tried  an  old 
Baptist  elder  from  the  cook-house; 
and  finally  Squire  Noyes  came  to  the 
rescue.  My  wife  was  hardly  satisfied, 
but  he  was  so  zealous  over  the  matter 
that  he  took  it  right  out  of  her  hands, 
and  announced  far  and  near  that  he 
would  preach  in  her  school-room  the 
next  Sunday.  He  was  a  regular  horse- 
jockey,  a  pettifogger  of  a  lawyer,  a 
farmer,  lumberman,  speculator,  justice 
of  the  peace,  and  a  local  preacher  in 
the  Methodist  Church.  He  was  on  a 
sheep -buying  tour  all  the  week,  and 
managed  to  advertise  the  meeting  so 
thoroughly  that  the  room  was  crowd- 
ed, and  the  log  fences  and  lumber 
piles  were  filled  with  his  congrega- 
tion, while  over  twenty  babies  were 
left  here  as  their  mothers  went  to 
meeting.  Mary  and  the  boys  did 
most  of  the  singing;  he  called  upon 
me  for  the  opening  prayer;  then  got 


up  and  announced  his  text :  '  Saul, 
Saul,  why  persecutest  thou  me?'  He 
looked  steadily  at  his  congregation 
a  minute,  then  read  it  again.  '  Saul, 
Saul,  why  persecutest  thou  mef  Up 
jumped  Saul  Perkins,  and  yelled  out, 
'It's  a  blamed  lie,  Squire  Xoyes,  an' 
you  know  it !  I  never  prosecuted  you 
nor  any  other  man;  an*  if  you  say  it 
agin,  Pll  thrash  ye  /'  " 

In  the  midst  of  the  laughter  which 
followed,  Mrs.  Morgan  called  her  hus- 
band to  supper. 

"Your  father  will  not  fancy  our 
music,  Mira  dear,  so  we  will  try  and 
time  our  practice  when  he  is  too  far 
away  to  be  annoyed  by  it;  and  when 
we  learn  some  of  the  songs  I  have  in 
my  trunk,  he  will  enjoy  it  as  much  as 
anybody,  you'll  see,"  Dora  said,  ca- 
ressingly. "  Mr.  Walton,  do  you  think 
I  can  learn  to  cook  and  make  pics, 
cake,  and  bread  as  nicely  as  Mira 
does?" 

"No  doubt  of  it.  Do  you  intend 
trying  ?" 

"Yes,  sir.  At  uncle's  there  are 
twelve  servants  and  a  house-keeper. 
I  always  had  a  maid  to  do  what  I 
ought  to  have  done  for  myself.  I 
laugh  whenever  I  think  of  my  first 
attempts  at  sweeping  my  room  at 
the  Seminary.  My  ideal  woman,  Mr. 
Walton,  is  one  who  considers  nothing 
useful  beneath  or  beyond  her  ability." 

"  Good  !  Then  you  believe  in  wom- 
an's rights  ?" 

"Certainly;  whatever  she  has 
strength  of  body  and  mind  to  accom- 
plish thoroughly  is  right  for  her  to 
do." 

"  Good !  and  no  woman  is  fit  to 
preside  over  a  house  until  she  under- 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


119 


stands  every  branch  of  house-keeping. 
Now  let  us  sing  that  grand  old  hymn, 

"  '  Jesus,  lover  of  my  soul ! 
Let  me  to  thy  bosom  fly.' 

Jack,  will  you  take  the  tenor?  Dora, 
you  sing  alto;  Jamie  and  Davy, bass; 
and  Mira  and  I  will  carry  the  air." 

A  gentle  prelude  from  the  melodeon, 
then  the  voices  blended  in  the  suppli- 
cation. Mrs.  Morgan  sat  silent,  with 
closed  eyes,  joining  each  petition  with 
a  fervor  the  younger  people  could  not 
know.  A  few  pages  from  Dora's  let- 
ter to  her  brother  tells  the  history  of 
the  following  weeks : 

"  In  this  hollow  'mid  the  hills  live 
the  most  charming  people  !  My  chum 
I  have  described  to  you ;  but  she 
grows  prettier  every  day — the  purest 
complexion,  flushing  and  paling  into 
loveliest  tints ;  long  thick  braids  of 
nut-brown  hair ;  perfect  teeth  ;  scar- 
let lips,  just  pouting  for  kisses;  and 
eyes  —  oh,  Bruce  !  I  wish  you  could 
look  into  her  eyes.  Their  color,  like 
her  complexion,  varies  with  every 
change  of  thought;  but  they  look  so 
true  and  earnest  and  brave.  But 
there !  you  will  call  this  a  lover's 
rhapsody,  as  you  did  before.  I  just 
wish  you  could  see  her !  Her  brother 
Jamie  is  a  fine -looking  man,  rather 
quiet,  and  very  good.  Davy  is  more 
my  style  ;  no  one  can  be  sad  or  gloomy 
where  he  is.  He  is  not  as  handsome 
as  his  brother;  but  his  face  is  so  sun- 
ny, and  his  eyes  sparkle  with  fun; 
while  Jamie's  have  a  steady,  intense 
light  in  them  that  is  beyond  my  com- 
prehension. They  all  have  a  timid  or 
defiant  manner  toward  their  father. 


I  have  seen  nothing  so  terrible  in 
him;  but  he  is  a  loud-spoken,  positive 
kind  of  a  man,  who  never  acknowl- 
edges a  fault  in  himself  and  sees  no 
end  of  them  in  other  people.  I  like 
to  hear  him  tell  stories,  and  it  pleases 
Mira;  so  I  often  go  to  him  when  he 
sits  smoking  on  the  porch,  and  ask 
questions  about  the  country  and  the 
people  who  were  here  when  they 
came.  He  told  me  about  a  man  I 
saw  in  the  store  to-day,  a  funny  old 
chap,  who  talked  rapidly  and  inces- 
santly. Years  ago  he  was  on  a  raft 
going  down  the  river,  and  saw  a  loco- 
motive for  the  first  time.  As  it  puffed 
out  great  clouds  of  smoke  and  fire, 
he  shouted,  'What's  that?'  'The 
devil,  Dick;  he's  after  you,'  said  the 
men.  Just  then  the  whistle  sounded, 
and  Dick  gave  a  yell  and  jumped  into 
the  river.  The  raft  passed  over  him, 
and  while  the  men  were  trying  to 
save  him,  it  struck  a  rock  and  stove 
all  in  pieces ;  but  after  the  train  pass- 
ed, he  swam  ashore.  The  cars  are 
still  a  great  curiosity  to  the  natives. 
Another  funny  story  is  of  a  man  call- 
ed K'neal.  He  has  an  enormous  nasal 
appendage,  out  of  all  proportion  to  his 
face.  He  says  the  only  objection  he 
has  to  it  is  when  he  stoops  to  drink 
out  of  a  spring— his  nose  riles  the  wa- 
ter! and  these  mountain  springs  are 
not  shallow. 

"I  have  quite  a  number  of  queer 
folks  and  strange  incidents  to  weave 
into  my  stories.  I  like  the  place  and 
people  immensely.  But  Mira,  though 
born  and  brought  up  here,  has  an  in- 
tense dislike  to  the  uncouth  manners 
of  the  people.  "We  were  invited  to 
Auntie  Rodgers's,  as  they  call  Jack's 


120 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


mother,  to  spend  the  afternoon.  We 
took  our  work  and  went  over  there 
about  two  o'clock.  It  was  the  richest 
kind  of  fun  for  me  to  get  the  old  lady 
talking  about  old  times.  -Her  expres- 
sions are  so  quaint  and  original,  and 
her  piety  so  fervent  and  emphatic. 
But  Mira  was  annoyed  at  something, 
and  provoked  at  me  for  drawing  the 
old  lady  out ;  for  she  knew  I  was  just 
getting  an  odd  character  to  imitate ; 
so  she  found  one  of  Jack's  books,  and 
sat  under  a  tree  near  the  house  till 
Jack  came. 

"  The  old  lady  had  reached  the  cli- 
max of  her  story  when  they  entered, 
so  she  bustled  about  to  get  supper. 
And  such  a  supper!  There  were  '  meat 
victuals  for  the  men  folks,'  eggs,  bread, 
and  biscuits  and  butter,  honey  and 
custard,  raspberries,  and  two  kinds  of 
pie  and  three  kinds  of  cake  —  I  real- 
ly don't  know  what  else.  The  men 
stooped  and  gulped  their  food,  and  put 
their  knives  'way  into  their  mouths ; 
and  when  one  man  picked  his  teeth 
with  his  fork,  I  saw  Mira  shudder; 
and  after  another  had  reached  across 
her  plate  and  with  his  own  knife  cut 
off  a  bit  of  butter,  spread  it  on  a 
slice  of  bread,  took  a  huge  bite,  then, 
stretching  out  his  coatless  arm,  sliced 
another  bit,  Mira  leaned  back  in  her 
chair  with  such  a  look  of  suffering  on 
her  face  I  felt  sorry  for  her.  Fortu- 
nately, the  men  folks  were  soon  gorged 
— that  really  seems  a  most  appropri- 
ate word  —  pushed  back  their  chairs, 
and  went  away.  Then  Auntie  Rodg- 
ers  and  I  finished  our  tea  at  leisure, 
while  Mira  and  Jack  talked  and  sang 
together.  His  mother  says  *  Jack  lots 
a  powerful  sight  on  Miryum  ;'  that  he 


'sort  o'  took  to  her  when  she  waVt 
knee-high  to  a  grasshopper,  and  he 
don't  seem  to  git  over  it  a  mite;'  add- 
ing, '  Wall,  my  Jack's  a  powerful  good 
boy,  ef  I  dew  say  it !'  I  agree  with 
her ;  he  seems  good,  and  is  handsome : 
dark -blue  eyes  and  jet-black  hair, 
heavy  side-whiskers,  firm  well-curved 
lips,  and  the  whitest  of  white  teeth. 
He  is  taller  than  Jamie  or  Davy,  and, 
at  first  thought,  finer-looking.  He  is 
treated  like  one  of  the  family,  and 
seems  to  take  the  same  interest  in  the 
business.  If  Mira  was  not  so  fastidi- 
ous, I  might  be  a  little  anxious ;  but 
there  is  no  man  good  enough  for  my 
Mira.  I  told  Mrs.  Morgan  about  her 
annoyance  at  Auntie  Rodgers's  table. 
'Poor  child!'  she  said,  'she  cannot 
help  it !  These  strong  prejudices  are 
inherited.  She  tries  to  overcome 
them,  but  she  never  will.' 

"I  have  said  nothing  about  Mira's 
mother,  because  I  have  no  words  to 
express  my  admiration  or  my  love. 
Cultured,  refined,  with  little  adaptive- 
ness,  this  life  in  the  woods  has  been 
a  daily  martyrdom  to  her.  She  has 
told  me  of  her  efforts  to  make  the  cot- 
tage (which  is  the  same  cabin  they 
first  moved  into,  built  over,  and  added 
to)  the  home  she  desired  her  children 
reared  in.  It  would  be  comical,  if  not 
so  pathetic,  to  hear  of  her  labors. 
They  painted  the  wood -work  of  the 
rooms  with  a  mixture  of  blue  clay 
and  milk  —  before  they  could  get 
white-lead — renewing  when  soiled  or 
worn.  She  covered  the  ceiling  over- 
head with  white  muslin,  and  made 
oil-cloth  by  painting  canvas  in  a  pat- 
tern of  her  own  invention.  Vines  and 
shrubs  surround  the  house,  brought 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


121 


from  the  woods  by  her  own  hands. 
Two  huge  pine  -  trees  clasp  arms 
over  the  gate ;  a  hemlock  hedge  sur- 
rounds the  flower-garden;  a  rustic 
arbor,  all  overgrown  with  wild  grape- 
vine, is  in  the  centre  of  one  grass-plot, 
and  a  mound  of  flowers  on  the  other 
side  of  the  stone  walk  that  leads  to 
the  door;  a  veranda  runs  across  tbe 
front  under  the  eaves,  and  an  entry 
opens  into  two  large  square  rooms. 
The  one  next  the  river  has  a  striped 
carpet,  a  table,  and  some  hanging 
shelves  filled  with  books,  a  lounge, 
and  chairs  cushioned  with  crimson 
cloth.  White-muslin  curtains  at  the 
windows,  and  vines  and  pressed  ferns 
are  on  the  mantle  and  around  the 
mirror,  while  little  shelves  holding 
vases  of  flowers  are  in  the  corners. 
The  other  room  (whichever  apartment 
we  speak  of,  the  other  is  distinguish- 
ed as  the  other  room)  is  carpeted  with 
white  sand  ;  each  alternate  board  has 
a  wavy  figure  down  its  whole  length 
made  by  Mrs.  Morgan's  broom.  This 
carpet  is  taken  up  every  morning; 
and  as  there  is  a  wholesale  store  of  it 
on  the  river  beach,  a  new  one  every 
day  is  not  considered  extravagant. 

"Mira  teaches  me  to  mix  bread, 
work  over  butter,  and  make  cake  and 
pie;  for  I  am  resolved  to  learn  every 
useful  thing  I  can.  Mrs.  Morgan  su- 
perintends our  labors.  There  are  also 
closets,  a  pantry,  and  a  milk  -  room 
where  the  water  runs  around  the  pans 
of  cream  and  jars  of  butter.  A  sum- 
mer-kitchen has  been  added  to  the 
west  end  of  the  house,  where  all  cook- 
ing and  baking  are  done.  A  spring 
from  the  mountain  brings  water  to 


the  back  door;  and  there  it  pours  a 
steady  stream  from  a  wooden  spout — 
so  cool  and  refreshing.  Since  writing 
this,  some  remark  of  Mira's  reminded 
me  of  a  query  of  Davy's.  He  said 
there  was  once  a  young  man  here, 
whose  name  was  Theodore  Montgom- 
ery, and  inquired  if  it  was  my  brother. 
"Evening.  —  Oh,  my  dear  brother, 
how  strange !  Indeed  truth  is  stran- 
ger than  fiction  !  I  have  just  return- 
ed from  Mrs.  Morgan's  room,  where  I 
had  been  assisting  with  the  week's 
mending.  She  told  me  of  the  Theo- 
dore she  liked  so  much,  and  then  put 
a  book  and  a  faded  daguerrotype  in 
my  hand.  I  opened  the  red  morocco 
case ;  and  there  was  the  same  dear 
good-natured  face  mamma  has  in  her 
locket  and  cries  over  so  often.  I 
could  hardly  believe  my  eyes !  I  open- 
ed the  book  —  there  was  your  name 
plain  enough — '  To  my  Kind  Counsel- 
lor and  Valued  Friend,  Mrs.  J.  Mor- 
gan, from  B.  H.  H.  T.  Montgomery.' 
There  could  be  no  mistake  !  She  put 
her  arms  around  me  and  kissed  me  so 
lovingly,  saying,  'The  dear  boy  is  in 
Texas,  you  said.  How  far  away  that 
seems !  But  I  am  very  glad  to  knoAV 
he  lives,  and  is  doing  well.'  Then  she 
told  me  how  much  you  helped  her  by 
your  example  in  training  her  boys. 
You  were  '  always  so  neat  and  polite, 
so  attentive  to  her  wants,  so  graceful 
and  well-bred.'  Hasn't  your  right 
ear  burned  all  this  afternoon,  I  won- 
der? They  are  calling  me  to  go  boat- 
riding.  Hoping  to  receive  a  letter 
from  you  before  I  leave  here,  I  re- 
main, your  affectionate  sister, 

"DOHA." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"Is  it  true,  O  God  in  heaven,  that  the  strongest  suffer  most? 
That  the  noblest  wander  farthest,  and  most  hopelessly  are  lost? 
That  the  highest  type  of  nature  is  capacity  for  gain? 
That  the  sadness  of  the  singer  makes  the  sweetness  of  the  strain  ?" 

'Author  Unknown. 


THE  Christmas  vacation  was  over ; 
and  from  North  and  South,  East  and 
West,  came  the  students  of  Ellens- 
port  Seminary. 

"  I'm  heartily  glad  to  begin  study 
again,  aren't  you,  Mira?"  Dora  said, 
as  she  was  hanging  her  new  dresses 
in  the  wardrobe. 

"  Yes ;  but  I  had  a  real  good  time 
at  Virgie's  home.  It  is  a  perfect  cu- 
riosity shop  from  the  parlors  to  the 
attic.  The  whole  family  are  'travel- 
lers and  sojourners,'  and  several  are 
sailors :  their  corals  and  shells  and 
fossils  are  just  wonderful !  And  they 
have  cases  of  stuffed  birds  and  ani- 
mals, and  specimens  of  fancy-work  of 
Indians  and  Africans.  Then  every- 
thing has  its  story,  from  the  anaconda 
coiled  over  Major  Terry's  desk  to  the 
pearl  brooch  at  madam's  throat.  And 
there  is  a  conservatory  full  of  flow- 
ers, and  a  library  full  of  books,  and 
a  bowling-alley,  and  ponies  to  ride. 
Virgie  has  her  own  carriage  and  po- 
nies, and  a  footman  in  livery  to  ride 
behind  on  a  gray  pony.  Oh,  it  was 
lovely  !  And  they  all  invited  me  to 
come  again,  as  if  they  really  wanted 


me  to.  Did  you  enjoy  the  vacation  ? 
You  look  thinner  and  paler  than  when 
school  closed.  Now,  Chum,  you  must 
not  study  so  late  at  night:  it  is  just 
killing  you." 

"Mira,  this  is  my  last  year  at 
school.  I  stand  first  in  my  class,  and 
I  wouldn't  miss  taking  the  honors  for 
anything" 

"  Not  even  for  health  ?" 

"  Oh,  I'll  get  over  this  nervousness 
as  soon  as  I  have  won  the  prize.  The 
president  says  ours  is  the  best  class 
he  has  ever  graduated." 

"Yes;  he  made  that  same  remark 
to  last  year's  graduates,  I  remember. 
Probably  they  grow  better  and  better 
till  they  die  of  it!" 

"  Miriam,  you  are  very  provoking." 

"Forgive  me,  Dora.  You  know  I 
wouldn't  oifend  you  for  anything  in 
the  world ;  but  to  see  you  so  sad  and 
pale,  in  almost  constant  pain,  and  yet 
forcing  yourself  to  work  for  Avhat 
really  doesn't  seem  to  me  worth  win- 
ning —  my  dear  chum,  I  get  pro- 
voked too." 

A  laugh  followed,  that  rippled  over 
tears.  "  Kiss  me,  Mira,  Now,  let's 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


123 


each  'gang  our  am  gait,'  as  Bessie 
would  say,  and  quietly  submit  to 
what  we  can't  enjoy." 

"Will  you  go  on  with  French?" 
"  Yes ;  I  intend  to  read  '  Corinne,' 
though  I'm  sure  our  Yankee  teachers' 
pronunciation  would  never  be  under- 
stood by  a  Parisian.  I  find  I  can 
read  in  the  library  from  eight  to  ten, 
and  then  practise  one  hour  and  study 
until  dinner.  After  dinner  come  reci- 
tations until  prayers;  then  I  put  in 
another  hour's  practice.  In  the  even- 
ing I  mean  to  read  poetry,  saving  the 
coarsest  print  for  lamplight.  Chem- 
istry and  German  recite  at  the  same 
bell  this  term.  I'm  sorry,  for  I  want- 
ed to  begin  German.  Professor  Clark 
advised  me  to  give  a  half  bell  to  each ; 
but  I  don't  enjoy  half  doing  things, 
so  I  shall  study  chemistry.  Are  there 
many  new  students?" 

"  Several  gentlemen — one  real  hand- 
some one  at  my  table  ;  he  looks  like 
Jack.  You  needn't  try  to  get  him 
down  to  your  section,  though,  as  you 
did  those  interesting  Burnhams." 

"  Now,  Dora,  you  know  I  got  Mr. 
Smith  to  ask  them  to  come,  because 
you  made  fun  of  them." 

"  Mira  Morgan,  we  did  not." 
"  Well,  you  got  them  to  talking 
about  crops,  and  the  best  way  to  fat 
beef,  and  then,  foppish  Paul  Percy 
would  sneer.  I  saw  one  of  your  gen- 
tlemen hold  his  hand  over  Tom  Burn- 
ham's  head,  as  if  to  warm  his  fingers, 
and  then  frown  as  though  he  burned 
them.  Tom  can't  help  his  hair  being 
as  red  as  a  live  coal,  and  he's  a  real 
good  student;  while  that  Paul  Per- 
cy, with  his  superior  smile  and  gold 
fob -chain,  never  recites  well.  Who 


will  room  with  Jennie  Purcell  this 
term  ?" 

"  A  new  student — an  awkward, 
sullen -faced  country  girl.  She  was 
dressed  in  homespun,  or  something 
equally  ridiculous,  and  her  face  was 
red,  and  eyes  swollen  from  crying." 

"Poor  thing!  she  is  homesick.  I 
know  just  how  to  sympathize  with 
her." 

"  Yes,  you  can  sympathize  with  ev- 
ery one.  Jen'  prefers  an  unsophisti- 
cated creature  that  will  stare  with  ad- 
miration at  her  cheap  jewellery  and 
her  great  bundles  of  love-letters.  By- 
the-way,  that  Jim  M'Gowan  was  re- 
quested not  to  return  to  Ellensport 
Seminary,  so  that  flirtation  is  ended. 
How  such  a  sentimental  piece  as  Jen- 
nie Purcell  can  write  such  spicy  com- 
positions is  a  mystery  to  me." 

Miriam's  face  flashed  crimson. 

"  You'll  be  in  the  public  class  this 
term.  Your  modesty  and  Miss  Cald- 
well's  clemency  will  avail  no  longer. 
But  why  do  you  look  so  conscience- 
smitten  ?" 

"  Because  I  am,  Dora ;  I  have  writ- 
ten all  Jennie  Purcell's  essays." 

"  Miriam  Morgan !  don't  you  know 
that  is  considered  a  very  disgraceful 
thing  to  do  ?" 

"Wait  until  you  have  heard  the 
whole  story." 

"  Now,  I  do  not  wish  to  be  too  se- 
vere a  judge  of  Jennie,"  she  said, 
when  all  was  told.  "She  has  not 
a  fine  sense  of  honor,  and  she  is  nat- 
urally very  lazy.  I  see  now  I  was 
foolish  and  did  wrong;  while  she,  in 
obliging  me — " 

"  Mira,  you  are  a  goose  !" 

"Yes,  Chum." 


124 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


"The  double-distilled  quintessence 
of  imbecility  permeates  the  perspica- 
ciousness  by  which  your  mentality  is 
illuminated.  I  shall  go  to  Miss  Cald- 
well— " 

"  Oh,  Chum,  please  don't !" 

"And  tell  my  suspicions.  She  will 
request  Miss  Purcell  to  write  her  next 
essay  in  her  presence.  Oh,  Miss  Cald- 
well  has  managed  more  difficult  cases 
than  this  without  any  noise.  You 
may  as  well  begin  to  collect  your 
thoughts  for  your  essay.  What  will 
be  the  subject  ?" 

"An  address  to  this  Old  Friend," 
holding  up  a  well-worn  shoe.  "It  is 
an  earth- worn  traveller.  Its  sole  has 
been  bound  to  mine  while  climbing 
the  rough  steeps  of  life  and  passing 
through  deep  waters.  Oft  has  it 
shielded  me  from  unseen  dangers.  It 
knows  the  ways  of  the  world;  it  has 
experienced  the  ups  and  downs  of 
life.  But  the  voice  that  once  sound- 
ed through  these  classic  halls  is  forev- 
er hushed  !  The  tongue  is  silent ;  the 
last  tie  severed !  Though  mourning 
over  its  premature  departure,  I  had 
no  power  to  heel !" 

"What  pathos!  Put  that  into 
rhyme,  Mira;  it  will  be  capital." 

The  books  were  on  the  study  ta- 
ble ;  the  wax-candles,  which  Mr.  Wal- 
ton had  substituted  for  the  dangerous 
burning- fluid,  were  lighted,  and  Mira 
revelled  in  the  fortunes  of  "  The  Fae- 
ry Queen,"  while  Dora  puzzled  over  a 
problem  in  conic  sections. 

"Oh,  Dora,  just  listen  to  one  sen- 
tence !  It  is  splendid !  When  Sir 
Arthur  is — " 

"Please  don't  bother  me!  'There 
is  a  property  of  the  above  polynomial 


quotient  which  belongs  exclusively  to 
equations,  containing  only  imaginary 
roots.'  Oh,  dear !  I  cannot  get  this 
lesson ;  and  I  wouldn't  fail  in  a  recita- 
tion now  for  the  world !  Oh,  what 
shall  I  do !"  And,  rising,  she  went  to 
the  wardrobe  and  took  a  small  bottle 
from  the  shelf. 

"  Chum,  don't  you  think  those  drops 
do  you  more  harm  than  good?" 

"  I  suppose  they  would  in  time ; 
but  I  shall  stop  using  them  as  soon  as 
my  studies  are  finished." 

"  But  you  take  them  so  much  often- 
er  than  you  did  last  year." 

"  I  don't  take  the  bitter  stuff  any 
oftener  than  I  have  to.  Virgie  Torry 
takes  more  opium  in  one  day  than  I 
do  in  three." 

"Poor  Virgie!  She  told  me  she 
began  it  when  she  was  suffering  heart- 
sorrow,  and  could  not  sleep  without 
an  opiate.  I  think  her  parents  sent 
her  here  to  get  her  away  from  a  lover. 
She  corresponds  with  him,  though." 

"And  it  will  end. in  an  elopement 
probably:  these  quiet,  dignified  girls 
are  so  deep !  Well,  I  wish  I  had  no 
more  pain  in  my  head  than  I  have  in 
my  heart.  Yesterday  the  neuralgia 
came  on  earlier.  I  had  been  to  the 
principal's  room  to  see  if  the  review  of 
trigonometry  was  added  to  this  term, 
and  just  as  I  came  out  I  thought  some- 
thing struck  me  on  this  side  of  my 
head  ;  I  know  I  screamed  or  groaned. 
My  head  was  numb  for  a  second,  and 
then,  if  it  had  been  shattered  into  a 
million  fragments  I  could  not  have 
been  in  more  agony.  How  I  got  to 
my  room  I  don't  know ;  and  if  I  had 
not  had  these  drops,  I  should  have 
died  with  the  pain." 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


125 


"  But  if  you  should  take  too  much  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  shall  not ;  I  always  drop  it 
carefully  in  the  spoon,"  and,  picking 
up  her  book  and  slate,  she  again  forced 
herself  to  study.  But  the  pain  in  her 
left  eye  grew  intolerable.  She  sprang 
suddenly  from  her  chair,  seized  the 
bottle,  and  with  shaking  hand  tried  to 
pour  out  the  desired  quantity. 

"  Let  me  do  it,  Chum." 

She  raised  the  spoonful  to  her  lips, 
shuddered,  then  swallowed  it  quickly, 
and  staggered  to  the  bed.  "Don't 
bother  me,"  she  muttered ;  "  let  me 
sleep  if  I  can." 

The  first  dose  had  just  taken  effect, 
and  in  a  moment  she  seemed  sleep- 
ing, though  her  forehead  was  contract- 
ed with  pain,  and  her  face  and  eyes 
twitched  constantly. 

A  half-hour  passed.  Miriam  had  re- 
moved the  sleeper's  shoes,  unfastened 
her  dress,  bathed  her  face  gently;  but 
her  breathing  grew  heavier — the  eye- 
balls seemed  dilated,  and  the  eyelids 
were  half  open.  The  lips,  dry  and 
white,  were  parted  in  a'ghastly  smile ; 
and  her  dark  curling  hair,  moist  with 
perspiration,  clung  to  the  livid  face. 

Miriam  tried  once  more  to  rouse 
her,  then  ran  quickly  from  the  room. 
"Virgie  may  know  what  to  do,"  she 
thought ;  "  and  the  faculty  will  make 
a  time  if  it  is  reported." 

One  glance  at  Dora's  face,  and  Vir- 
gie said,  "Open  the  windows,  and 
raise  her  head.  Now,  keep  quiet  un- 
til I  come  back." 

The  minutes  seemed  hours  until  she 
returned.  "  Came  within  one  of  get- 
ting caught  by  the  matron !  But 
one  of  the  dining-room  girls  has  often 
given  me  cold  coffee  to  drink  at 


night,  and  I  helped  myself  to  salt  and 
mustard.  Now,  raise  her  up.  She's 
got  to  swallow  this  emetic,  and  when 
the  opium  is  off  her  stomach  we  will 
make  her  drink  the  coffee." 

An  hour  later,  Dora  sat  in  a  rocker 
before  the  open  window,  the  wintry 
air  blowing  full  on  her  pallid  face. 

"  She  will  be  all  right  to-morrow, 
I  think,  though  I  cannot  tell  how 
much  opium  may  be  in  her  system. 
She  may  sink  back  in  that  stupor 
again.  Dora,"  she  cried,  shaking  the 
helpless  body,  "  do  wake  up  !" 

"  Oh,  let  me  rest,"  she  murmured, 
"  do  let  me  rest  /" 

"  Had  I  not  better  call  the  precep- 
tress?" Miriam  asked,  as  they  tried 
for  the  second  time  to  make  Dora 
walk  across  the  room,  and  then  bore 
her  fainting  to  the  bed,  where  her 
heavy  breathing  warned  them  she 
must  be  instantly  roused. 

"  No,  no  !  If  we  get  tired  out,  I'll 
call  Kate  Hadley.  In  two  hours  more 
the  danger  will  be  over.  If  the  story 
gets  into  the  papers,  as  it  will,  if  any 
but  ourselves  know  it,  the  school's 
reputation  would  be  injured,  and  then 
the  faculty  and  board  of  managers 
would  make  an  example  of  Dora." 

Another  hour  of  unceasing  effort 
passed,  and  Virgie  sank,  half  fainting, 
in  a  chair.  "  You  may  call  Kate,"  she 
gasped. 

Miriam's  slippered  feet  ran  noise- 
lessly down  the  hall,  up  the  stairway, 
and  entered  Miss  Hadley's  door.  In 
five  minutes  she  was  back  again. 
I  could  not  waken  her,"  she  said, 
"  though  I  sprinkled  water  in  her 
face,  and  shook  her  again  and  again. 
Oh,  dear,  she  is  dosed  too !  Well, 


126 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


Dora  must  be  made  to  waken  her- 
self. Here,  Yirgie,  take  this  candle 
and  wave  it  back  and  forth  before  her 
face;  close!  no  matter  if  it  burns  her 
nose."  Then,  making  a  trumpet  of 
her  hands,  Miriam  put  them  to  Dora's 
ear,  and  screamed,  "Fire !  Fire ! ! 
Fire!!!" 

"Oh,  oh!"  cried  Dora,  "help- 
quick  !  The  seminary's  burning ! 
Help !  Fire  /"  She  sprang  up  and 
leaned  out  of  the  window.  "Are 
they  all  out?  Where  is  Miss  Cald- 
well?" 

"  She  is  safe,  Dora,  and  so  are  you, 
now.  Mira,  dear  child,  don't  cry  !  the 
danger  is  over.  I  don't  believe  you 
ever  told  a  deliberate  lie  before,  but 
you  never  did  a  better  act.  Dora,  for 
seven  hours  you  have  been  in  the 
jaws  of  death !  a  disgusting,  dis- 
graceful death  !  Now  rouse  yourself 
and  think  of  it. 

"Mira,  close  the  window  and  try 
to  sleep  until  the  prayer -bell  rings. 
Dora  will  not  need  watching  now ; 
and  I'll  send  the  hall  -  maid  to  put 
your  room,  in  order." 

Late  that  afternoon  Virginia  Torry 
sat  by  Dora's  bedside.  The  two  were 
earnestly  talking. 

"No  one  suspects  what  ailed  you. 
Madam  Ferris  presumed  you  had 
brought  a  box  of  goodies  from  home. 
'If  the  students  would  only  confine 
themselves  to  the  healthful  diet  of 
the  institution  !' "  she  said. 

"  Healthful  food  !"  exclaimed  Dora, 
indignantly.  "The  bread  is  made  of 
musty  flour — that  is  one  of  the  ma- 
tron's economies.  The  beef  is  tough, 
the  potatoes  watery, the  butter  strong; 
and  that  is  all  the  variety  we  have. 


I  hate  to  grumble  at  the  board  when 
we  pay  so  little ;  but  I'm  sure  it 
would  cost  no  more  to  give  us  milk, 
rice,  fish,  and  eggs,  than  the  indigesti- 
ble food  we  have  now.  Then,  with 
fewer  studies  and  more  exercise,  and 
more  sleep,  we  might  do  ourselves 
justice,  and  the  school  credit.  If  we 
were  not  living  such  an  unnatural 
life,  we  would  not  have  these  horrible 
cravings." 

"Well,  we  cannot  reform  the  sys- 
tem ;  but  we  can  leave  the  school  or 
conquer  the  habit  here." 

"  Oh,  I  cannot  leave  without  a  di- 
ploma." 

"You  came  very  near  leaving  last 
night,  Dora,  in  a  most  disgraceful 
manner.  Fancy  the  newspaper  par- 
agraphs :  the  surmisings  as  to  wheth- 
er it  was  accidental,  or  deliberate  sui- 
cide ;  the  prying  into  your  family  af- 
fairs ;  suggestions  of  a  fickle  lover,  a 
stern  guardian,  or — " 

"  Oh,  stop,  Virgie  !     Stop  !" 

"  Dora,  if  Mira  had  not  called  me  as 
soon  as  she  did ;  if  I  had  not  known 
exactly  what  to  do ;  if  strength  had 
not  been  given  us  to  prevent  your  go- 
ing into  that  stupor  again,  until  you 
were  roused  by  Mira's  voice — Dora, 
scores  of  editors  and  reporters  would 
now  be  sharpening  their  pencils  to 
dishonor  your  name  and  vilify  your 
friends." 

"  Oh,  Virgie !"  Tears  trickled  down 
the  crimsoned  cheeks. 

"Darling,  you  think  I  am  very 
cruel ;  but  it  is  all  true.  Many  times 
I  have  thought, 

"  '  It  were  better  not  to  be, 
Life  is  so  full  of  misery.' 

But  the  horror  and  grief,  perhaps  dis- 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


127 


grace  and  reproach,  brought  upon 
those  I  love  —  that  deterred  me.  It 
is  cowardly  to  escape  from  pain  in 
that  way." 

"  Virgie,  do  you  think — " 

"You  intended  suicide  ?  No,  Dora ; 
but  if  you  were  found  dead  in  your 
bed,  many  would  believe  it.  Rea- 
sons enough  for  self-murder  would  be 
invented  before  your  body  was  laid 
in  its  coffin." 

"  Oh,  Virgie  !  oh,  do  stop  !" 

"Dora,  these  torturing  words  are 
like  dagger -thrusts  to  me!  But  I 
solemnly  make  this  vow,  by  all  the 
strength  of  my  nature,  never,  never,  to 
touch  or  taste  opium  again  —  not  in 
any  form  —  not  if  I  was  told  it  would 
save  my  life  !  Dora,  will  you  register 
your  vow  with  mine  ?"  »  . 

"I  do  mean  to  give  up  using  it;  I 
wouldn't  be  a  slave  to  it  as  mamma  is 
for  anything  !  But,  Virgie,  I  couldn't 
graduate  if  I  stopped  now." 

An  impatient  movement  made  Dora 
look  in  her  friend's  face. 

"You  think  I  could?" 

"  No ;  but  I  think  you  are  like  a  fly 
in  a  spider's  web ;  the  sooner  you 
break  loose  the  better !  But  I  won't 
talk  to  you  any  more.  Mira  is  com- 
ing ;  let  her  bathe  your  head,  and  you 
try  to  go  to  sleep." 

A  week  later  the  school  duties  were 
resumed,  reviews  of  the  lessons  lost 
during  sickness  being  added  to  Dora's 
duties.  The  weather  was  intensely 
cold,  and  the  furnaces  put  in  the 
building  during  vacation  sent  more 
gas  than  heat  to  the  students'  rooms. 
Headaches,  nausea,  and  rheumatic 
pains  were  constant  complaints.  But 
the  energetic  toiled  on,  and  the  in- 


dolont  evaded  duties  and  discipline, 
studied  equivocation  and  sophistry, 
attended  recitations  only  to  exchange 
glances  or  billets  cFamour  with  gentle- 
men of  the  same  amount  of  intellect 
and  ambition. 

"Here's  a  letter  for  you,  Mira," 
Dora  said  one  evening,  as  she  came 
wearily  into  the  room  with  a  pile  of 
books  on  her  arm.  "If  it  is  from 
Davy,  do  read  it  aloud,  for  I  never 
needed  a  .little  nonsense  more." 

"  It  is  Davy's  writing  : 

"  'New  York  City,  January  18th. 
"'My  OWN  DEAR  SISTER,— Do  not 
be  surprised  at  hearing  (or  reading) 
of  my  departure  from  the  banks  of 
the  Delaware  to  seek  banks  of  gold 
in  parts  unknown.  You  know  I  have 
always  intended  to  seek  my  fortune 
somewhere  out  in  the  big  world  ;  and 
the  time  to  cut  loose  has  finally  come. 
I  never  can  amount  to  anything  while 
I  stay  at  home  ;  would  only  be  a  ma- 
chine to  carry  out  father's  plans,  with 
just  sense  enough  to  obey  orders;  and 
I  hate  making  money  for  money's 
sake !  so  I've  made  up  my  mnid  to 
pull  ou.t.  Do  you  remember  those 
words  of  Goethe's  that  Jack  put  to 
music?  They  are  singing  themselves 
in  my  ears  all  the  time  : 

'  "Keep  not  standing  fixed  and  rooted, 

Briskly  venture,  briskly  roam  ; 
Head  and  hand,  where'er  thou  foot  it, 

And  stout  heart  are  still  at  home. 
In  each  land  the  sun  does  visit 

We  are  gny,  whate'er  betide  : 
To  give  space  for  wandering  is  it 

That  the  world  is  made  so  wide."  ' 

" '  So  I've  decided  to  make  a  venture, 
and  start  on  a  roam  that  may  carry 


128 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


me  around  the  globe.  Just  think  of 
the  countries  I  shall  see,  and  the  ad- 
ventures I  shall  have,  and  the  stories 
I  can  tell  you  when  I  get  back  again  ! 
Won't  it  be  jolly?  I  would  like  to 
be  home  when  you  and  Miss  D.  come ; 
for,  of  course,  she  will  spend  her  va- 
cation with  you.  I  saw  the  happiest 
days  of  my  life  last  summer ;  but  they 
were  too  good  to  last,  and  I  have 
wished  a  hundred  times  that  I  had 
gone  away  before  ;  but  that  is  folly. 
"What  can't  be  cured  must  be  en- 
dured." Jamie  is  the  best  fellow  liv- 
ing, and  nothing  is  too  good  for  him. 
I  don't  intend  to  come  back  until  I 
can  see  him  married  without  feeling 
like  a  villain  or  a  fool.  I  am  writing 
in  a  great  hurry,  as  one  of  the  men  of 
our  expedition  is  waiting  for  me. 

" '  We  leave  New  York  in  a  few 
hours.  I  have  written  to  mother  and 
to  Jamie,  giving  him  all  right,  title, 
and  interest  in  my  share  of  the  prop- 
erty. I've  stood  it  just  as  long  as  I 
can;  so  don't  feel  badly  about  it,  nor 
blame  your  affectionate  brother, 

"'DAVY.'" 

"What  can  he  mean?  Has  he 
really  gone  ?" 

The  girls'  faces  were  white  with 
horror  and  surprise,  as  they  stared 
at  each  other.  Miriam  glanced  the 
pages  over  again  to  see  if  no  word  or 
line  proclaimed  it  one  of  Davy's  fre- 
quent jokes,  then  dropped  the  letter 
on  the  floor,  and  threw  herself  upon 
the  bed.  Not  a  tear  came  to  her 
eyes;  but  sobs,  deep  and  irrepressi- 
ble, shook  her  form  as  she  thought  of 
the  happy  hours  forever  gone !  of  homo 
without  Davy's  mirth  and  mischief; 


his  frequent  discontent,  the  inward  re- 
belling at  his  father's  arrogant  voice 
and  dictatorial  manner;  the  evening 
talks  with  his  mother,  the  wild  fan- 
cies crushed,  the  desires  repressed  for 
mother's  sake.  What  new  experience, 
what  added  provocation,  had  made 
home  unendurable?  Little  by  little, 
words,  acts,  glances,  like  fragments  of 
a  melody,  came  to  mind.  "  Dora  has 
done  it,"  she  thought,  and  a  feeling 
of  resentment  embittered  the  sorrow 
of  her  heart.  "  She  likes  Jamie  best. 
Oh,  my  poor  Davy  !"  And  she  buried 
her  face  in  the  pillows  again. 

Dora  had  picked  up  the  letter  Mir- 
iam threw  down,  and,  with  tear-filled 
eyes,  read  every  word  carefully. 
"And  he  thinks  —  oh,  Davy  !  Davy! 
how  qpuld  you?  Jamie  don't  care 
for  me,  not  that  way ;  and  he  has 
gone,  and  I  can  never  tell  him  !  Oh, 
Davy !  Davy !" 

For  a  moment  she  rested  her  head 
on  the  table,  and  tears  fell  fast 
on  the  letter  clasped  in  her  hands. 
Then,  rising,  she  went  to  the  bed  and 
knelt  by  Miriam's  side:  "Oh,  Mira, 
darling!  I  did  not  know  —  he  never 
said.  Mira,  I  cannot  be  blamed  !" 

The  tear  -  wet  face  was  clasped  to 
Miriam's;  and  with  one  long,  fervent 
kiss,  the  girls'  hearts  were  scaled  in  a 
new  bond  of  sisterhood. 

"Our  impulsive,  ambitious  Davy 
needs  the  discipline  he  will  get  in 
wandering.  Dora,  my  dear,  sweet 
sister,  God  will  keep  him  safely,  and 
bring  him  back  by -and -by."  Then 
thoughts  of  the  lonely  home,  of 
mother's  sorrow,  brought  a  rush  of 
tears. 

"Ob,  how  could  he  go  without  a 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


129 


good-bye  ?  or  telling  us  where  lie  was 
going  ?  Oh,  my  darling  Davy !  where 
are  you  now  ?"  And  again  she  trem- 
bled with  gasping  sobs. 

The  prayer -bell  rang,  but  they 
could  not  endure  the  curious  eyes  of 
students  nor  Miss  CaldwelPs  kind  in- 
quiries. Soon  the  supper  gong  sound- 
ed through  the  halls.  Miriam  still 
lay,  with  closed  eyes,  upon  the  bed, 
and  Dora  sat  by  the  window,  gazing 
at  the  wintry  sky,  and  wondering 
where,  under  its  arching  blue,  Davy 
could  be.  An  hour  passed.  The 
study  bell  resounded  from  the  chapel 
tower,  and  she  rose  and  lighted  the 
candles.  Mechanically  the  books  for 
the  evening  study  were  arranged. 

"Chum,"  she  said,  softly,  "it  is 
study  hours  now." 

Miriam  raised  herself  slowly. 
"  Dora,  I  am  going  home !" 

"Oh,  Mira!" 

"  Yes,  dear ;  mother  needs  me." 

"  But  what  will  I  do  ?" 

"  You  may  go  with  me." 

"No,  no  I  cannot  do  that:  I  must 
finish  the  course,  and  get  my  diploma. 
But  oh,  dear !  how  can  I  learn  these 
lessons,  now  ?" 

"  Maybe  you  are  learning  other  les- 
sons, Dora.  Maybe  the  Master  sees 
we  need  to  learn  patience  and  faith." 

Her  friend  again  bowed  her  head 
upon  the  table,  and  Miriam  went  qui- 
etly to  Miss  Caldwell's  room. 

"  I  was  sorry  to  mark  both  you  and 
Miss  Montgomery  for  absence  from 
chapel  and  dining-room  to-day,"  the 
preceptress  said.  "But  what  is  the 
matter  ?  You  have  been  crying  ?" 

"  I  have  sad  news  from  home :  my 


younger  brother  has  never  been  satis- 
fied to  live  among  the  mountains,  and 
he  has  gone  away  to  seek  his  fortune. 
Mother  is  very  lonely,  and  I  must  go 
home." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  Miriam." 

"Yes  'm,"  choking  back  a  sob; 
"  but  I  must  go !" 

"  You  will  return  soon  ?" 

"  No,  ma'am :  my  school  -  days  are 
ended." 

"Your  uncle  will  not  consent  to 
that." 

"  I  shall  study  all  I  can.  My  moth- 
er is  not  strong  now :  she  needs  me." 

""Well,  my  dear  child,  you  know 
best.  Wherever  you  are,  you  will  do 
your  duty  bravely  and  thoroughly; 
and  whenever  I  can  help  you,  let  me 
know." 

That  night,  Dora,  under  the  influ- 
ence of  her  usual  opiate,  slept  sound- 
ly; but  Miriam  lay  with  open  eyes, 
staring  at  the  darkness  and  wishing 
for  dawn.  "  Where  is  Davy  now — just 
now?"  was  her  only  thought.  Slow- 
ly the  interior  of  her  brain  seemed 
expanding ;  slowly  a  pure  white  light 
illuminated  the  arched  space  as  though 
her  vision  were  in  the  centre,  and, 
gazing  into  a  limitless  expanse,  she 
saw  vague  outlines  hovering;  slow- 
ly they  took  shape.  'Twas  a  schoon- 
er with  every  sail  reefed.  Boats  were 
floating  beside  it;  a  man  swung  him- 
self from  the  schooner's  side,  dropped 
into  the  row-boat,  and  took  the  helm. 
He  pushed  his  hat  from  his  brow.  It 
was  Davy! 

Miriam  sprang  up.  "What  have  I 
seen  ?"  she  gasped.  "  Oh,  is  it  a  dream, 
or  is  it  true  ?" 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


'  We  live  in  deeds,  not  words ;  in  thoughts,  not  breaths ; 
In  actions,  not  in  figures  on  a  dial. 
We  should  count  time  by  heart-throbs. 
He  lives  most  who  feels  most,  acts  the  noblest,  lives  the  best." 

OWEN  MEREDITH. 


"  Richmond,  Va.,  April  27th. 

"Mr  DEAR  MIKA, — It  was  no  use. 
I  tried  to  live  without  you;  tried  to 
continue  ray  studies  with  aching  head 
and  lonely  heart,  but  I  could  not !  I 
lost  my  standing  in  the  class,  and  con- 
sequently the  honors.  I  was  forced 
to  drop  some  studies ;  and  so  my  di- 
ploma was  gone.  I  might  still  have 
graduated  scientifically,  but  finally 
concluded  to  bring  what  remains  of 
health  and  sight  I  still  possessed  back 
to  my  uncle's  house  and  my  mamma's 
home.  Of  course  she  cried  over  me, 
and  uncle  grumbled  at  my  failure, 
though  he  declared  it  was  what  he 
expected  all  the  time.  How  I  have 
suffered  in  conquering  the  craving  for 
opium  no  words  can  give  you  an  idea ; 
and  now  I  am  forced  to  keep  it  in 
sight,  or  the  mania  is  intolerable. 

"Maura  Anna  is  the  only  one  who 
seems  really  to  sympathize  with  my 
disappointment  in  failing  to  graduate, 
or  to  be  anxious  about  my  health. 
She  has  nursed  and  doctored  me,  as 
she  did  all  through  my  weakly  child- 
hood ;  and  I  am  already  stronger  than 
when  I  came  home.  She  has  had  bit- 


ter sorrow  of  late.  Her  Liza,  who 
was  my  maid  for  years,  has  been  sold 
South.  Uncle  said  there  was  no  use 
of  so  many  servants  about  the  house ; 
so  he  traded  her  for  a  span  of  black 
ponies.  I  had  taught  her  to  read  and 
write;  so  I  console  her  mother  with 
the  thought  of  receiving  a  letter  from 
her,  and  promising  to  buy  her  back, 
and  give  her  free  papers  some  day. 
My  faithful,  kind-hearted  Liza!  to 
think  of  her  being  abused  makes  my 
blood  tingle  with  pain.  Poor  Maum 
Anna  grieves  sadly;  Liza  was  all  she 
had  left.  Since  my  health  has  im- 
proved, I  have  tried  to  get  scholars  to 
teach;  but  uncle  was  very  indignant. 
None  of  his  blood  should  descend  to 
Yankee  occupations,  he  said.  I  do 
not  know  what  to  do.  If  mamma 
needed  me,  of  course  it  would  be  my 
duty  and  pleasure  to  stay  with  her. 
I  was  not  a  welcome  child  when  first 
placed  in  her  arms;  and  all  my  life 
have  I  heard  regrets  for  my  lack  of 
beauty,  reproofs  for  my  irrepressible 
mimicry,  and  prophecies  that  fate  was 
against  me.  Perhaps  from  sheer  ob- 
stinacy I  have  lived  on,  determined  to 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


131 


make  my  face  grow  beautiful  from, 
within,  and  conquer  adverse  fate  wher- 
ever encountered !  Failing  to  receive 
a  diploma  after  toiling  so  long  and 
hard  is  discouraging,  certainly;  and 
I  returned  completely  disheartened. 
But  uncle's  '  I  told  you  so,'  and  mam- 
ma's tearful  allusion  to  fate,  brought 
me  to  my  feet  again,  and,  aided  by 
Maum  Anna's  tonics,  I  stand  ready 
for  battle  once  more. 

"  Now,  my  dear  chum,  my  adopted 
sister,  will  you  write  to  Mr.  Walton, 
inquiring  if  there  is  any  position  in 
Philadelphia  that  I  can  fill;  that  is, 
any  he  can  obtain  for  me  without 
trouble.  Perhaps  you  know  of  a 
country  school  I  could  get  near  you. 
I  am  willing  to  undertake  anything 
that  will  pay  for  board  and  clothing, 
until  I  have  experience  enough  in 
teaching  to  command  a  larger  salary. 
I  am  writing  a  long  story,  for  which 
I  expect  to  be  well  paid.  Give  my 
best  love  to  your  good  mother,  and 
remember  me  to  Jamie  and  Jack.  Of 
course  you  will  let  me  know  as  soon 
as  you  hear  from  Davy.  Write  im- 
mediately to  your  true  friend, 

"DORA  MONTGOMERY." 

Miriam  read  the  letter  aloud  to  her 
mother  and  Jamie.  "There's  no  use 
in  bothering  uncle ;  he  was  talking 
to  Miss  Caldwell  about  her  going  to 
Philadelphia— I  think  he  tried  to  get 
a  position  there  for  her — and  I  heard 
him  say  there  were  ten  teachers  to 
every  situation.  But  you  are  a  school 
director,  Jamie;  don't  you  know  of 
an  opening  ?" 

"Yes;  I  have  no  teacher  engaged  for 
this  district;  but  is  Dora  competent?" 


"Competent?  James  Morgan,  what 
a  question !" 

"Oh,  I  don't  doubt  she  has  enough 
book  -  larnin',  as  Bill  would  say,  but 
that  is  only  a  part  of  the  requirements 
for  a  public-school  teacher.  She  must 
have  firmness,  tact,  knowledge  of 
child  -  nature,  and  a  vast  amount  of 
self-control.  You  know  I  have  quite 
set  my  heart  on  making  this  a  model 
school.  I  have  the  house  built  to  suit 
me  without  taxing  the  people;  and 
now  I  propose  to  have  a  teacher  who 
will  carry  out  my  methods." 

"  You  dear  old  fellow !  if  that  isn't 
just  like  you !  You  will  reform  the 
world,  give  you  time  enough." 

"My  will  is  a  sufficient  lever;  but, 
like  Archimedes,  I  have  no  fulcrum, 
sister;"  and  his  face  saddened.  "Yet 
I  will  do  all  I  can.  That  reminds  me, 
Mira,  will  you  take  charge  of  the  li- 
brary Saturday  night?  The  folks 
come  from  five  miles  around  to  get 
books,  and  I  cannot  leave  the  store, 
there  are  so  many  accounts  to  settle 
that  evening." 

"  Of  course  I  will,  or  anything  else 
I  can  do  to  assist  you.  How  does 
the  temperance  society  flourish  ?" 

"  Good  ;  nearly  every  man,  woman, 
and  child  around  here  are  members ; 
but  that  reminds  me,  I  must  write  to 
a  lecturer  to  come  next  week — Friday. 
It  is  our  anniversary,  and  we  propose 
to  have  a  cold-water  convention,  or 
oblation.  It  is  Jane  Rodgers's  sug- 
gestion, or  Mistress  Kent's,  I  should 
say,  and  I  promised  to  see  it 
through." 

"  Which  means  you  will  do  two- 
thirds  of  the  work,  brother." 

"No;  Jane  always  does  her  share, 


132 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


and  Jack  will  assist.  I  have  some 
letters  to  write  yet,  so  good-night." 

"  But,  Jamie—" 

"  Oh  yes ;  you  wish  to  know  what 
to  write  your  friend.  What  do  you 
think,  mother?" 

"  I  think  Miriam  better  ask  her  to 
come  and  make  us  a  visit,  with  an 
idea  of  taking  the  school  if  you  find 
her  fitted  for  it." 

"  "Well,  perhaps  that  is  best ;  though 
it  might  be  rather  awkward  to  decline 
her  services." 

"And  you  ought  to  let  her  know 
the  teachers  board  around." 

"Oh,  mother!" 

"  I  would  be  glad  to  have  her  with 
us,  daughter;  but  the  salary  is  so 
small  she  cannot  afford  to  pay  for  her 
board,  and  your  father  would  not  con- 
sent to  her  staying  for  less  than  two 
dollars  a  week." 

A  look  of  contempt  and  disappoint- 
ment swept  across  Miriam's  flushed 
face. 

Jamie  looked  annoyed  :  "  I  will  see 
that  her  salary  is  sufficient  to  pay  for 
her  board ;  and  if  you  think  she  can 
adapt  herself  t'o  the  position,  she  shall 
have  the  school." 

Miriam's  arms  were  clasped  around 
his  neck. 

"  Thank  you,  dear,"  he  said,  giving 
kiss  for  kiss.  "It  seems  like  home 
to  have  you  with  us  once  more.  Oh, 
tell  Miss  Dora  I  shall  be  in  New  York 
week  after  next,  buying  goods ;  if  she 
will  come  to  the  Merchant's  Hotel,  I 
will  be  her  escort  to  our  home." 

"That  will  be  just  splendid!  I'll 
write  to-morrow." 

"Now, good-night, my  sister;  good- 
night, mother." 


Tears  filled  the  eyes  of  each  as  they 
parted.  All  thought  of  Davy,  but 
none  had  courage  to  speak  his  name. 

"Where  is  he?  Why  do  we  not 
hear?"  was  the  burden  of  every  heart. 

The  next  day  was  cold  and  windy. 
A  storm  of  mingled  rain  and  sleet 
dashed  against  the  windows,  and  the 
pine-trees  waved  their  long  arms  in 
reckless  defiance  of  the  tempest.  Ja- 
mie came  from  his  room  in  the  store 
to  the  early  breakfast,  looking  sad  and 
tired. 

"  You  did  not  sleep  well,  my  son  ?" 
his  mother  said,  resting  her  hand  ten- 
derly on  his  forehead. 

"  No ;  and  I  have  a  long  ride  before 
me." 

"Not  to-day?" 

"Yes,  mother.  Matthew  Bryon  is 
sick,  and  has  sent  for  me." 

"But  you  are  half  sick  yourself!" 

"  No ;  only  one  -  third,"  looking  up 
with  a  smile  that  irradiated  his  face. 
"  Don't  worry  about  me,  mother ;  I 
am  only  a  little  under  the  tceather, 
and  shall  put  on  my  oil -cloth  suit 
before  I  ride  out  into  it.  Besides 
doctoring  old  Matt,  I  have  collections 
to  make  before  going  to  buy  goods. 
Father  will  be  away  attending  a  law- 
suit while  I  am  in  New  York.  I  do 
wish  he  would  stop  litigation  and  at- 
tend to  business !" 

"  Can  Jack  attend  to  the  store  ?" 

"  Yes,  he  understands  my  system  of 
book-keeping,  and  can  keep  the  men's 
time ;  but  he  will  need  help  to  wait 
upon  customers.  Can  you  spare  Mir- 
iam when  trade  is  brisk  ?" 

"  Yes.  Is  this  property  nearly  paid 
for,  Jamie?" 

"Hardly  five  hundred  dollars  back 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


133 


now,  mother.  I  can  make  half  that  in 
the  store,  and  father  ought  to  make 
the  rest  with  his  lumber,  besides 
paying  his  lawyer's  fees  and  costs  of 
suits.  You  will  be  glad  when  it  is 
paid,  mother  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  son,  for  the  place  does  not 
seem  our  own  until  there  is  no  debt 
resting  upon  it." 

"  It  is  a  grand  estate !  Look  which- 
ever way  you  will,  the  land  is  all  ours ; 
ride  for  miles  up  the  creek,  or  down 
the  river, it  is  all  ours!  But  you  do 
not  look  at  all  elated,  mother?" 

"My  son,  I  remember  lThe  earth  is 
the  Lord's,  and  the  fulness  thereof? 
We  are  only  his  stewards,  put  here  to 
dress  and  keep  it.  I  never  felt  like 
saying  one  acre  of  land,  one  tree,  one 
grass-blade,  was  mine !" 

"Well,  mother,  when  a  man  has 
worked  with  hand  and  brain  for  years 
to  earn  a  thing ;  when  he  has  put  his 
strength  and  will  into  it,  and  the  law 
at  last  proclaims  it  his,  he  is  ready  to 
believe  he  owns  it.  It  is  not  land 
only  that  I  glory  in :  we  have  the 
finest  tannery  within  fifty  miles ;  three 
saw -mills  cutting  lumber  night  and 
day;  a  store  doing  a  flourishing  trade; 
and  a  more  intelligent,  virtuous  lot  of 
workmen  were  never  got  together.  I 
tell  you,  mother,  it  is  something  to  be 
proud  of!"  And  Jamie  rose  from  the 
table  with  flushed  face  and  eyes  spar- 
kling. 

"  '0  my  inheritance,  how  wide,  how  fair! 
Time  is  my  wide  seed-field  : 
Of  time  I'm  heir!'" 

exclaimed  Miriam,  who  had  entered 
in  time  to  hear  Jamie's  last  words. 
"  Are  we  rich,  Jamie  ?" 

"  We   will  be,  if  I  live  ten  years 


longer.  But  I  must  be  off  now  !  It 
will  probably  clear  up  by  noon.  I'll 
be  home  to  supper." 

"Jamie  never  cared  for  Dora,  did 
he,  mother?"  Miriam  stood  by  the 
window,  watching  her  brother  ride 
away  into  the  pitiless  storm. 

"  Care  for  her  f  He  always  seemed 
to  enjoy  her  company." 

"  Yes ;  but  he  never  thought  of  her 
as  a  wife  ?" 

"  No.  Does  she  care  for  him  in  that 
way  ?" 

"No,  mother,  I'm  sure  she  never 
did  ;  but  Davy — Davy  imagined  they 
would  be  married !  Let  me  show 
you  his  letter,  mother.  Dora  always 
read  Davy's  letters,  and  she  read  this. 
Oh,  how  she  cried !  She  loved  him 
so ;  and  he  never  told  her  how  he 
felt !" 

Tears  were  raining  down  the  faces 
of  the  mother  and  sister,  as  they  read 
the  mistaken,  misguided  boy's  last 
message. 

"  But  he  will  come  home,  mother;  he 
is  out  on  the  ocean  now ;  but  he  will 
come  back  again !"  Miriam's  face 
was  lighted  with  a  glad  smile,  that 
shone  strangely  through  her  tears. 

"  Yes,  my  daughter ;  Davy  is  pure, 
brave,  unselfish.  God  will  lead  and 
guide  him,  and  I  trust  my  family  will 
all  be  united  again.  But  your  moth- 
er, Miriam,  your  mother  is  growing 
old." 

A  quick  gasp,  and  Miriam  gazed 
searchingly  into  her  mother's  eyes, 
while  a  look  of  horror  and  defiance 
crept  over  her  face. 

"Daughter,  I  am  very  weary  of 
this  earth-life.  If  it  were  not  for  my 
children,  I  should  have  asked  my 


134 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


Saviour  to  take  me  long  ago.  Duty 
and  love  have  kept  me  so  long ;  but 
a  few  short  years  will  finish  my  work, 
and  I  can  go  home." 

"And  leave  me  ?  Oh,  mother  !" 
"  The  Saviour  who  has  kept  me  will 
keep  you,  my  daughter.  He  has  a 
work  for  you  to  do.  While  I  can 
help  you,  I  shall  stay.  But  you  must 
learn  to  go  to  him  for  strength,  com- 
fort, and  counsel,  my  child.  Your 
mother  cannot  lead  you  much  far- 
ther ;  I  do  not  even  know  your  way, 
or  your  work,  my  darling.  I  have 
taught  you  to  be  faithful  in  that 
which  is  least,  and  I  know  you  will 
be  faithful  to  God's  great  trusts." 

Miriam's  head  drooped  lower  and 
lower,  until,  slipping  from  the  stool  to 
the  floor,  she  buried  her  face  in  her 
mother's  lap.  The  thin,  toil-hardened 
hands  rested  upon  the  glossy  braids 
of  hair.  "  My  daughter,  I  have  long 
desired  an  uninterrupted  talk  with 
you,  and  this  stormy  day  has  brought 
it.  Do  not  think  because  I  speak  so 
seriously  that  death  seems  very  near ; 
it  does  not.  I  feel  quite  as  well  to- 
day as  I  have  for  months ;  and  I  may 
live  on  for  years.  But,  daughter,  you 
are  a  woman  now,  and  must  face  life 
bravely  without  faltering,  knowing 
your  own  powers,  and  realizing  your 
responsibilities.  I  have  always  felt 
you  had  a  mission  in  life  different 
from  most  women.  God  has  given 
you  beauty  and  genius,  Miriam,  as  he 
has  given  you  feet  and  hands,  that 
you  might  do  the  work  that  is  before 
you.  Bestowing  his  best  gifts,  he  re- 
quires best  work.  Fit  yourself  for  it, 
daughter ;  read  the  best  words  of  the 
best  authors;  think  often  of  Jesus 


Christ,'  the  best  man;  study  to  make 
each  act  and  desire  what  he  will  call 
best.  Oh,  daughter,  when  I  look  at 
you  and  think  of  life — its  miseries,  its 
disappointments,  its  regrets,  its  bur- 
dens and  labors — I  have  felt  as  though 
I  must  take  you  in  my  arms  and 
shield  you,  or  carry  you  away  from 
earth  with  me !  But  my  Saviour  has 
given  me  more  trust  in  him.  I  see 
how  every  burden  develops  strength ; 
the  disappointments  leave  us  wiser; 
the  trials  bring  endurance  and  cour- 
age with  them;  and  the  spirit  in  us 
is  purified,  invigorated,  glorified  !  It 
grows  into  a  higher  life  even  here, 
and  made  fit  for  heaven  and  God. 
Now,  my  daughter,  go  to  your  room 
and  bathe  your  swollen  eyes.  We  are 
alone  for  dinner;  so  the  morning  is 
yours  for  study,  and  practising  music." 

Miriam  arose  slowly,  pressed  one 
long,  earnest  kiss  on  her  mother's  lips, 
and  went  up-stairs. 

By  one  of  those  climatic  changes  so 
common  in  the  Northern  States,  the 
summer  sun  shone  hot  upon  the  earth 
before  the  winter's  snows  had  gone. 
The  mountain  streams,  released  from 
icy  fetters,  came  rushing  down  the 
hillsides,  overflowing  the  mill-ponds, 
and  endangering  the  dams.  The  riv- 
er rose  above  its  banks,  and,  surround- 
ing the  piles  of  lumber  and  bark, 
threatened  to  sweep  all  away. 

Mr.  Morgan  was  still  from  home. 
Jamie  mounted  the  swiftest  horse, 
and  rode  to  the  upper  mill  to  remove 
the  sluice -boards  from  the  dams. 
Morris,  with  the  tannery  men,  was  re- 
moving leather  from  the  drying-house 
to  higher  ground,  when  Jack  ran  from 
the  store,  shouting, 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


135 


"Bill,  send  a  man  to  row  a  boat. 
If  those  lumber -piles  are  not  tied, 
they'll  go  off!" 

"Can't  help  it;  leather's  worth 
more  'n  lumber!"  the  answer  came 
back  on  the  south  wind ;  and  that  in- 
stant a  low  seething  roar  was  heard, 
and  the  brook  grew  smooth  with  its 
added  power. 

"The  water's  raising  again.  I'm 
afraid  a  dam's  bursted !  Do  send  me 
some  help!" 

"  Can't  spare  a  man ;  wish  I  had 
fifty  more.  Something's  got  to  go  !" 

Jack  caught  up  the  coil  of  rafting 
rope,  and  ran  to  a  boat  tied  below  the 
mill,  now  some  rods  from  the  shore. 
Miriam,  watching  from  her  window, 
flew  down  the  stairs,  and  never  paused 
until,  springing  upon  a  slab,  with  a 
board  for  a  paddle,  she  had  pushed 
her  craft  beside  his. 

"  Now,  Jack,  I'll  row.  You  'tend  to 
the  lumber.  Can  you  tie  that  pile  to 
this  beech-tree?  All  right,  that '11 
hold  !  Now,  Jack,  the  other !" 

Soon  the  sawed  lumber  was  se- 
cured ;  but  huge  logs  came  leaping 
over  the  dam,  and  floated  by  them 
down  the  river. 

"If  we  could  make  a  boom  and 
save  them.  It's  a  blamed  shame  to 
lose  them  big  rafting  logs !"  Jack  ex- 
claimed. 

"  Well,  let's  make  one !  There  are 
bows  and  plugs  in  the  shed;  and  I 
can  row  /" 

Jack  leaped  to  shore;  was  back 
again  with  pike -pole,  auger,  axe, 
plugs,  and  bows. 

"  Don't  know  as  we  can  git  it  done 
quick  enough  to  do  any  good ;  but  ef 
the  middle  dam  has  broke,  the  logs 


will  come  down  till  morning.  An1  '£ 
has  !  That's  Long  John's  mark.  He 
brands  hisn"  (letting  the  logs  float  by). 
"An*  here's  a  Morgan"  (catching  the 
smooth  pine  stick) ;  "  I'll  hitch  this  to 
the  bank:  it's  a  good  one  to  begin  on." 

They  worked  until  the  sun  sank  be- 
hind the  hill  and  the  cold  mist  began 
to  rise  from  the  river.  "Just  a  few 
more  logs  and  we  are  done.  We've 
saved  a  good  many  thousand  feet  of 
lumber,  Miriam,  but  I'm  afraid  you'll 
be  sick.  Bill  might  'a  spared  a  man ; 
but  he's  so  mad  about  your  father's 
going  off,  he'd  let  the  lumber  go  to 
Guinea.  A  man  couldn't  done  no  bet- 
ter 'n  you  have,  though,  Miriam,  brave 
girl!  I — "  He  stopped  suddenly. 
"  Hand  me  the  axe  and  a  plug !  Now 
here  comes  a  sixteen-foot  stick :  row 
east  a  little  —  steady  —  so.  Here  she 
comes !"  And  the  sharp  pike  descend- 
ed in  its  side ;  and  Miriam  rowed  back 
to  the  long  line  of  logs  that  stretched 
across  the  mouth  of  the  creek. 

The  last  stick  was  fastened,  and 
Jack,  taking  the  rower's  seat,  pulled 
the  boat  to  shore. 

"  The  water's  falling,"  Miriam  said ; 
"unless  there  is  a  dam  undermined, 
there  is  not  much  damage  done." 

"  Not  more  than  a  hundred  dollars' 
worth  of  our  lumber  gone;  but,  unless 
the  sawyer  got  off  the  slush-boards  be- 
fore Jamie  got  there,  it  will  cost  con- 
siderable to  get  that  mill  in  order." 

Miriam  entered  the  house  with  wet 
feet  and  muddy  skirts;  but  her  face 
was  flushed  with  triumph  :  "Did  you 
see  us,  mother  ?" 

"  Yes,  daughter ;  you  did  well.  But 
bareheaded,  and  no  shawl  ?" 

"I  could  not  row  with  a  shawl, 


136 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


mother,  and  I  had  not  time  to  get  my 
hat.    I  just  flew  /" 

"  I  heard  you.  Here  comes  Jamie, 
wet,  cold,  and  tired.  Poor  boy !  he  is 
doing  the  work  of  three  men." 

The  mill  was  much  injured,  the 
dam  gone,  and  several  days  were 
spent  in  obtaining  a  millwright,  re- 
moving flood-trash,  restoring  order  as 
fast  as  possible,  and  getting  business 
to  run  smoothly  before  leaving  to  pur- 
chase the  spring  goods  for  the  store. 
With  pulse  at  fever-heat,  a  heavy  pain  I 
in  his  head,  and  every  bone  and  mus- 
cle filled  with  a  burning  ache,  Jamie 
left  home  for  a  week's  exhausting  la- 
bor in  the  city. 

"The  smartest  business  man  of  his 
age  I  ever  knew,"  an  old  merchant 
said  as  Jamie  left  his  office. 
,  "  Not  a  more  shrewd  buyer  in  the 
market,"  another  remarked,  as  he  re- 
ceipted the  long  bills  of  Morgan  & 
Sons.  "Nor  a  more  honest  man,"  he 
added,  remembering  how  Jamie  cor- 
rected an  error  which  was  in  his  own 
favor. 

Night  after  night  he  dragged  him- 
self to  his  room,  threw  himself  ex- 
hausted upon  the  bed,  and,  too  tired 
to  sleep,  went  over  and  over  the 
transactions  of  the  day  ;  the  business 
at  the  store,  the  tannery,  the  several 
mills ;  each  creditor's  account,  circum- 
stances, and  intentions ;  the  books 
needed  in  the  library;  the  drugs  used 
in  his  practice;  the  goods  yet  unpur- 
chased;  and,  like  a  minor  chord  vi- 
brating through  every  strain,  thoughts 
of  Davy, "  dear  brother  Davy." 

"A  lady  to  see  you,  sir,"  the  clerk 
said,  as  the  fifth  day  ended,  and  he 
wearily  entered  the  office. 


"  There's  some  mistake,  I  think.  I 
know  no  ladies  here." 

"She  has  just  arrived,  and  asks  for 
you ;  better  go  up  to  the  parlor  and 
see  her." 

"  There's  some  mistake,"  he  mutter- 
ed, following  the  clerk  to  the  parlor 
door. 

"  Jamie  !"  The  glad  voice  recalled 
his  consciousness. 

"Dora!"  The  outstretched  hands 
were  clasped  in  his  own. 

The  clerk  smilingly  withdrew. 
"  Guess  she  is  a  relation  or  a  sweet- 
heart !  "Well,  it's  time  somebody  came 
to  look  after  him ;  he's  one  of  those 
fellows  who  put  a  week's  work  into  a 
day,  and  die  young.  Hope  the  lady 
'11  take  him  home,  or  he'll  be  sick  on 
our  hands." 

In  a  moment  the  parlor  bell  rang. 
The  smiling  clerk  answered  the  sum- 
mons. 

"Is  there  an  express  train  leaving 
on  the  New  York  and  Erie  Road  to- 
night?" 

"  Yes  'm ;  one  leaves  in  two  hours." 

"Very  well.  Is  there  a  friend  of 
Mr.  Morgan's,  or  a  physician,  who  can 
persuade  him  to  go  home  with  me  on 
that  train  ?  He  is  ill,  and  should 
leave  the  city  before  he  gets  worse." 

"  Yes  'm ;  you  are  right.  I  will  see 
that  he  has  good  advice  immediately. 
And  with  your  permission,  miss,  I  will 
pack  up  his  clothes." 

"  Thank  you ;  and  bring  me  his 
bill,  and  mine  too,  please;  and  have 
a  carriage  here  in  time. — Jamie,"  she 
said,  returning  to  the  sofa  where  he 
sat,  "  let's  go  home  to-night.  I  am  in 
such  a  hurry  to  see  your  mother  and 
Mira." 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


137 


"No;  I'm  not  through  buying 
goods  yet ;  you  must  wait  until  I  fin- 
ish that  bill  of  crockery,  and  buy  some 
hardware.  I  have  a  list  here,"  and  he 
raised  his  hand  to  his  pocket.  It 
dropped  languidly  on  his  knee,  and 
his  head  fell  back.  "  Dora,  go  and 
call  Davy.  Tell  him  I  wish  to  talk 
business.  Tell  him  I  need  him,  Dora." 

With  aching  heart  and  tear -filled 
eyes,  Dora  turned  to  leave  the  room, 
as  a  tall,  portly,  gray-haired  gentleman 
entered,  bowed  courteously,  and  then 
crossed  the  parlor  to  Jamie's  side. 

"Ah,  Morgan,  I'm  sorry  to  see  you 
ill,"  he  said.  "You  are  overworked. 
Better  get  home  right  away." 

"  I'm  rather  tired,  doctor,  that's  all ; 
haven't  slept  well  in  a  long  time. 
Give  me  something  that  will  bring 
sleep,  and  I'll  finish  buying  goods  to- 
morrow, and  then  take  a  rest." 

"  Oh,  let  the  goods  go !  Your 
brother  will  come  down  and  finish." 

"  Davy  is  gone,  doctor." 

"Gone?    Where?"    • 

"  I  don't  know ;  no  one  knows.  He 
came  to  New  York  for  father;  put 
everything  straight  in  the  business, 
and  then  left  for  parts  unknown." 

"How?    What!  not  run  away?" 

"He  wrote  me  he  did  not  like  life 
on  the  Delaware ;  he  never  did ;  and 
he  did  not  want  to  hear  objections  to 
his  going,  nor  be  coaxed  out  of  it,  as 
he  had  been  before.  So  he  went 
without  our  knowledge." 

"  Have  you  made  inquiries  ?" 

"  I  came  immediately  to  New  York, 
but  could  get  no  trace  of  him." 

"  Strange  !  Strange  !  He  was  a 
venturesome,  impulsive  young  fellow. 
Perhaps  —  but  it's  hardly  possible! 


Morgan,  give  me  your  address ;  I 
may  want  to  write  you." 

Jamie  took  a  card  from  his  pocket. 

"And  now,  Morgan,  I  want  to  see 
you  on  the  night  express  for  home. 
You  will  get  there  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, I  suppose.  The  lady  whom  I 
met  came  for  you,  did  she  not  ?" 

"  Came  for  me  ?  I  don't  know. 
Was  it  mother  ?  Oh,  pardon  me,  it 
was  Dora.  She  is  coming  now.  Miss 
Montgomery,  my  friend,  Dr.  Sey- 
mour !" 

"You  know  Morgan's  family,  Miss 
Montgomery  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  sir ;  I  am  on  my  way  to 
his  home  now." 

"Then,  as  his  physician,  I  advise 
you  to  take  him  home  to-night." 

"If  he  will  go?" 

"  He  must  go  !" 

.  "  Will  you  not  accompany  us  ? 
There  are  no  skilful  physicians  there 
in  the  woods." 

"Unfortunately  I  cannot;  my  pa- 
tients here  would  make  an  ado.  But 
I  will  prepare  a  sedative,  which  you 
may  give  when  the  train  starts.  He 
will  probably  sleep  until  you  get 
home.  Telegraph  for  the  best  medi- 
cal attendant  to  meet  you ;  for  I  fear 
he  will  have  a  severe  attack  of  brain- 
fever.  You  are  all  ready  ?" 

"Yes,  sir;  and  the  carriage  is  at 
the  door." 

"  Come,  Morgan !" 

Jamie  rose  wearily,  accepted  the 
proffered  arm,  and,  with  a  dazed  look 
and  faltering  step,  walked  down  the 
stairs  and  into  the  carriage.  Dr.  Sey- 
mour seated  himself  by  his  side.  The 
clerk  placed  a  pillow  in  the  carriage, 
and  a  small  flask  in  Dora's  hand. 


138 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


"  You  will  need  these  to-night,"  he 
said,  "  and  I  have  put  a  light  lunch  in 
Morgan's  bag.  "VVe  shall  be  anxious 
to  hear  how  you  get  home.  Will  you 
kindly  drop  a  line  to  me  or  the  propri- 
etor ?"  slipping  a  card  into  her  hand. 

"  I  will,  thank  you.     Good-bye." 

He  grasped  Jamie's  hand ;  but  no 
notice  was  taken  of  the  warm  clasp 
or  friendly  farewell.  They  stopped 
for  a  moment  at  a  drug -store,  and 
then  drove  on.  Rousing  Jamie  with 
difficulty,  they  assisted  him  into  the 
ferry-boat,  and  with  even  greater  dif- 
ficulty into  the  car.  Seats  were  turn- 
ed and  cushions  arranged,  that  he 
might  lie  down. 

"  I  will  put  a  counter-irritant  at  the 
base  of  the  brain,  and  give  a  stimu- 
lant. Nothing  more  can  be  done,  un- 
til he  is  at  home  and  in  bed.  Here 
are  some  written  directions  for  you : 
follow  them  until  you  procure  a  phy- 
sician." 

A  long,  long,  weary  night  followed, 
with  restless  tossing,  feeble  mutter- 
ings,  and  frequent  calls  for  Davy. 
Little  semblance  of  Jamie  in  the 
flushed  face,  blood-shot  eyes,  and  un- 
combed hair  falling  over  the  forehead, 
as  in  the  gray  morning  Mrs.  Morgan 
and  Jack  entered  the  car.  A  hurried, 
grateful  kiss  on  Dora's  lips,  and  the 
mother  clasped  her  first  -  born,  best- 
loved  child  in  her  arms.  He  stared 
at  her  vacantly,  then  said,  "There 
was  an  unsettled  account  that  ought 
to  be  attended  to  immediately." 

"  Jamie."  said  Jack, "  you  are  home 
now.  Come,  we  must  get  off  the 
cars."  He  closed  his  eyes,  saying 
"he  hoped  Davy  would  come  soon, 
for  he  must  tell  him  something." 


The  conductor  came.  "Morgan, 
here's  your  station ;  can  you  walk  ?" 

Jamie  rose  quietly.  "Certainly; 
though  I  feel  rather  weak.  —  Jack, 
how  are  you?  Where  are  you  go- 
ing ?  And  mother,  too  ?" 

"Yes,  my  son,  we  came  to  meet 
you  and  Dora." 

"  Dora  ?  Why,  when  did  she  come  ? 
Glad  to  see  you,  Dora.  Are  all  well 
at  home  ?" 

Stepping  unaided  into  the  carriage, 
he  sank  back  helplessly.  When  they 
reached  the  house,  he  could  not  be 
roused.  He  was  carried  to  the  bed 
Miriam  had  prepared  in  the  parlor; 
and  for  forty -eight  hours  muttered 
and  moaned,  but  never  rested,  never 
recognized  a  face  or  voice  of  those 
who  watched  over  him  day  and 
night.  His  father  came.  Three  phy- 
sicians exercised  all  their  wisdom  and 
skill,  but  Jamie  was  DO  better.  It 
was  Sabbath  morning  :  his  mother  sat 
beside  him,  his  father  stood  near,  and 
Miriam  knelt  upon  the  floor.  He  open- 
ed his  eyes  —  those  deep -azure  eyes 
— and  looked  long  and  tenderly  into 
his  mother's  face.  "  I'm  going  away, 
mother,"  he  muttered,  feebly.  "  Go- 
ing out  of  this  life  into  the  other  life. 
Don't  be  sorry  :  it  is  better  so.  Mira, 
all  of  my  work  that  is  worth  doing  I 
leave  to  you.  My  property  I  give 
to— father,  do  you  hear  ?— I  give  my 
share  to  Miriam:  let  her  carry  out 
my  plans.  Davy  will  cpme  by  -  and- 
by." 

A  long  silence.  Then,  while  the 
repressed  sobs  tore  every  heart  with 
agony,  he  murmured  again,  "  Tell  all 
the  folks  good-bye.  I  love  them  all. 
Father,  be  patient,  be  gentle.  Com- 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


139 


fort  each  other:  you  will  be  lonely 
now.  Mother,  mother,  we  will  meet 
soon !" 

One  quick,  fluttering  breath,  and 
Jamie  was  gone ! 

Why  attempt  to  describe  the  scene 
that  followed— the  bitter  anguish,  the 
unavailing  regret  ?  The  father  walk- 
ed the  floor,  crying,  "  Oh,  I  put  too 
much  upon  my  boy  !  I  ought  to  have 
done  more  myself.  Oh,  Jamie,  my 
son,  come  back  !  come  back!"  While 
the  mother,  as  pale  as  the  dead  in  the 
next  room,  lay  stunned  and  silent  be- 
neath the  blow.  Miriam  moaned  like 
one  in  physical  pain:  "Both  gone! 
both  my  precious  brothers  gone !  Oh, 
it  cannot  be  true !" 

Again  and  again  she  went  into  the 
parlor,  raised  the  curtains,  so  that  the 
sunlight  might  fall  on  the  white  face, 
folded  back  the  sheet,  and  gazed  long 
upon  the  clay  that  was  no  longer  Ja- 
mie. Acquaintances,  neighbors,  utter- 
ed their  well-meant  words  of  consola- 
tion, but  they  fell  on  deafened  ears. 
What  mockery !  how  meaningless 
they  seemed !  The  day  for  burying 
their  dead  came  at  last.  Dressed 
in  garments  of  mourning,  they  sat 
around  the  coffin.  About  them  were 
Jamie's  business  associates  from  the 
city,  neighbors  who  had  known  him 
from  boyhood,  workmen  whom  he 
had  helped  to  live  honest  and  pure, 
acquaintances  from  near  and  far — 
friends  all  of  them,  honoring,  admir- 
ing, loving  the  intelligent,  upright, 
enterprising  man  so  unexpectedly  tak- 
en away. 

The  burial  -  service  was  read ;  a 
hymn  falteringly  sung ;  then  they 
carried  him  out  into  the  spring  sun- 


shine, and  one  by  one  walked  around 
his  narrow  bed  to  take  a  last  look  at 
the  pale,  peaceful  face.  A  sleep  most 
placid  and  profound  had  sealed  those 
earnest  eyes,  closed  the  loving  lips, 
stilled  forever  those  active  hands.  It 
was  not  Jamie  lying  there !  A  long 
procession  followed  the  body  to  its 
burial  upon  the  hillside,  beneath  wide- 
arching  trees.  Apple -blossoms  and 
fragrant  ferns  were  showered  upon 
the  coffin  as  they  lowered  it  into 
the  grave ;  then  the  mourners  turned 
away.  Oh,  the  desolate  house  !  the 
empty  rooms !  Oh,  the  anguish  of 
folding  away  garments  to  be  used  no 
more  !  the  weariness  of  every-day  du- 
ties that  will  not  be  dismissed  ! 

"Mister  Morgan  is  completely 
broke  down,"  the  neighbors  said, 
noticing  his  stooped  form  and  whi- 
tening hair.  But  there  was  no  re- 
laxing of  the  stern  face ;  no  soften- 
ing in  the  arrogant  voice.  Serving 
customers,  inspecting  leather,  measur- 
ing lumber  and  in  making  bargains, 
there  were  the  same  keen  glance  and 
imperative  tone.  With  his  family  he 
sat  silent,  unapproachable. 

Mrs.  Morgan  arose  from  a  sick-bed 
with  a  face  so  radiant  with  perfect 
peace,  and  eyes  so  expectant  of  bliss, 
that  all  seeing  souls  were  gladdened. 
"  Our  Saviour  has  shown  me  how 
right  it  is,  how  best  for  all  that  Ja- 
mie should  go,"  she  said  one  day. 
"  And  I  ?  I  am  only  waiting." 

One  by  one  the  duties  of  life  were 
laid  down ;  day  by  day  she  grew 
weaker. 

"I  do  not  mean  to  be  an  invalid, 
daughter.  I  had  rather  be  found 
working  when  the  Master  calls  me; 


140 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


but  as  I  have  no  strength  for  plan- 
ning, nor  earnest  effort,  let  me  keep  my 
hands  busy  and  be  some  help  to  you." 

"  Oh,  the  blessing  of  work !"  Mir- 
iam exclaimed  as  she  toiled  in  the 
kitchen  from  morning  until  night. 
"If  the  imperative  needs  of  our  bodies 
did  not  press  us  so  closely,  our  hearts 
would  break  and  pur  minds  go  wild. 

"Dora,"  she  said  one  day  to  the 
friend  who  did  a  sister's  duties  and 
received  a  sister's  love  —  "Dora,  I 
want  to  tell  you  all  Jamie's  plans  for 
a  school ;  and  then,  if  you  like,  you 
can  begin  teaching  in  the  new  house. 
I  know  you  have  been  anxious  to  talk 
about  it,  but  I  couldn't  introduce  the 
matter  before." 

The  next  Monday  morning,  the  chil- 
dren were  called  together,  and  with 
earnest,  tearful  words  the  young  teach- 
er began  her  labors.  That  evening, 
at  Mrs.  Morgan's  request,  the  melo- 
deon  was  opened,  and  Jack  joined 
them  in  an  evening  hymn.  Then  Mir- 
iam arose  and  accompanied  her  moth- 
er from  the  room. 


Jack  looked  after  them  earnestly. 
'"Twon't  never  be  the  same  here 
again,"  he  said,  "nor  anywhere  about 
this  place.  The  business  suffers ;  but 
that  ain't  the  worst  of  it.  The  library 
'sociation  met  t'other  night,  and  the 
secretary  tried  to  read  some  resolu- 
tions, but  broke  down ;  then,  with  sob- 
bing you  could  hear  all  round  the 
room,  they  voted  on  'em,  and  went 
home.  I  locked  the  door,  and  that  is 
ended!  The  temperance  union  was 
goin'  to  have  a  celebration,  but  of 
course  they've  giv'  that  up.  There's 
four  or  five  ol'  soakers  Jamie  just 
hung  on  to  an'  kept  up;  they'll  go 
doicn  now!  There'll  be  liquor  sold 
here  in  less  'n  a  year,  you'll  see  !" 

"But  can  no  one  keep  up  these  so- 
cieties ?" 

"  Mister  Morgan  can't ;  he  don't  see 
the  necessity.  I  can't ;  it  ain't  in  me. 
I  can  run  the  store,  or  a  mill,  or  a  raft ; 
but  I  can't  run  a  society !  Missis 
Morgan  sees  the  why  of  this  afflic- 
tion ;  but,  to  me,  se6rns  's  if  the  Lord 
had  made  a  mistake." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

'Sudden  rest  may  fall  on  weaned  sinews; 
Workers  drop  and  die — the  work  continues. 
God  names  differently  what  we  name  failing ; 
In  a  glory  mist  His  purpose  veiling." 


IN  the  quiet  of  a  summer's  evening 
Miriam  wandered  up  the  mountain 
path  where  she  ran  so  gayly  when  a 
child,  with  Bruce,  her  faithful  dog,  by 
her  side.  "They  are  all  gone  now," 
she  murmured,  sadly.  "  My  old  play- 
mate is  dead  long  ago ;  Jamie  safe  in 
that  far-off  heaven !  and  Davy,  oh, 
where  is  he  ?"  She  sank  on  the  moss- 
covered  ground,  and  buried  her  face 
in  her  hands.  An  approaching  step 
startled  her. 

"  Forgive  me,  Miriam,  for  following 
you,"  Jack  said,  "but  here's  a  letter 
I  want  to  show  you,  'thout  anybody's 
knowing  it.  One  come  a  spell  ago 
from  the  same  person.  'T\vas  wrote 
to  Jamie,  but  I  opened  an'  answered 
it.  Yesterday  I  got  this.  Maybe 
there  hain't  nothing  in  it  —  maybe 
there  is !  Thought  you  ought  to 
know  'bout  it  anyhow." 

The  letter  was  from  Dr.  Seymour. 
After  brief  regrets  at  the  sudden 
death  of  so  useful  and  noble  a  man 
as  his  valued  friend,  he  added,  "  The 
fact  of  David  Morgan's  departure 
about  the  time  of  the  expedition's 
leaving  New  York  (which  I  mention- 


Miss  MOLOCK. 

ed  in  my  letter  to  his  brother,' and  to 
which  you  replied),  led  me  to  think 
so  adventurous  and  inexperienced  a 
youth  might  have  become  inveigled 
into  the  secret  and  dangerous  enter- 
prise. In  fact,  from  information  I  was 
already  possessed  of,  I  was  aware  that 
a  young  man  answering  his  descrip- 
tion had  been  induced  to  make  one  of 
the  required  number;  though  I  was 
ignorant,  and  am  still,  of  the  youth's 
name  or  residence.  The  object  of  the 
expedition  was  to  recover  a  large 
amount  of  gold  buried  in  an  island 
lying  south  of  Cuba.  Its  amount 
and  exact  location  are  secrets  in  the 
possession  of  the  leaders  of  the  party, 
and  no  others.  The  money  was  re- 
covered from  a  Spanish  vessel  wreck- 
ed on  the  coast  years  ago.  That  the 
effort  to  capture  the  treasure  was  dis- 
covered by  the  Cubans,  and  the  Amer- 
icans driven  off  or  captured,  I  inform- 
ed you  in  a  previous  letter.  I  have 
since  learned  that  those  in  command 
of  the  schooner  escaped,  and  proba- 
bly sailed  for  South  America  or  Mex- 
ico. If  David  Morgan  was  in  this 
expedition,  and  escaped,  you  will  un-r 


142 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


doubtcdly  hear  from  him  in  the  course 
of  a  few  months." 

The  vision  of  that  winter's  night 
came  to  Miriam's  mind.  "I  do  not 
know  what  to  think,  Jack.  I  feel  as 
though  it  was  true." 

"  So  do  I !"  he  exclaimed ;  "  and  yet 
it  sounds  like  a  made-up  story :  going 
off  to  look  for  buried  gold." 

"'A  bank  of  gx>ld!'  Why,  those 
were  his  very  words !  He  was  leav- 
ing the  banks  of  the  Delaware  to  seek 
a  bank  of  gold.  And  he  was  one  of 
those  going  to  shore  !  Oh,  if  he  was 
captured !" 

"He  wa'n't!  I'm  just  dead -sure, 
Miriam,  that  he  got  away,  an'  is  gone 
to  some  fureign  country.  All  we've 
got  to  do  is  jist  keep  up  our  spirits 
an'  wait  patient  till  he  gets  home 
again.  I'll  bet  he'll  think  there 
hain't  no  better  place  'n  this,  after 
all." 

The  next  mail  brought  a  letter 
from  Dora's  brother,  forwarded  from 
Philadelphia:  "That  you  should  be 
forced  to  relinquish  the  coveted  di- 
ploma is  unfortunate,  no  doubt ;  but 
not  half  so  bad,  in  my  opinion,  as  the 
loss  of  your  health.  Go  to  the  home 
in  the  Delaware  hills  immediately. 
In  Mrs.  Morgan's  kindly  care  I  shall 
feel  safe  about  you;  for  her  counsel, 
her  presence  even,  will  restore  every 
good  thing  —  hope,  health,  happiness. 
She  was  the  ideal  woman  of  my  ear- 
ly manhood ;  and  knowing  one  such 
•woman  lives  in  God's  world  has 
made  much  good  seem  possible  to 
me,  when  I  saw  and  heard  nothing 
but  evil.  There  is  not  a  day  of  my 
eventful  life  —  even  though  I  had  no 
conscious  thought  of  Mrs.  Morgan — 


that  has  not  been  influenced  by  her 
counsel,  blessed  by  her  prayers.  Her 
daughter  may  be  beautiful,  intelli- 
gent, all  your  partial  affection  de- 
scribes her ;  but  if  she  possesses  one 
tithe  the  goodness  of  her  mother,  she 
is  a  girl  worth  a  man's  travelling 
three  thousand  miles  to  see,  even  if 
he  had  not  the  best  sister  in  the 
world  to  attract  him  in  the  same  di- 
rection. Briefly,  if  my  next  sale  of 
stock  equals  my  last — $6480,  cash — 
I  shall  leave  my  ranch  in  the  care 
of  my  partner  and  Antonio,  to  come 
North.  A  schooner  is  anchored  across 
the  bay,  and  I  am  going  out  with 
a  boat-load  of  fresh  vegetables  and 
fruits  to  trade  with  her  crew;  possi- 
bly it  may  be  an  opportunity  of  send- 
ing this  letter  to  you." 

The  schooner  was  not  anchored, 
but  aground  on  the  treacherous,  shift- 
ing sands  of  the  bar ;  and  the  captain 
hailed  Montgomery,  as  his  boat  ap- 
peared, for  means  of  transportation  to 
shore. 

"Don't  want  none  o'  your  garden- 
sass,"  he  yelled,  in  unmistakable  Yan- 
kee accent.  "  Jest  yeou  pitch  eout 
them  thare  greens,  an'  come  'ith  yer 
boat  to  take  us  ashore !" 

"Ay,  ay!"  Montgomery  answered, 
and,  unloading  his  cargo  on  the  wharf 
by  his  boat-house,  was  soon  beside 
the  schooner. 

"  Where  are  your  own  boats  ?"  he 
asked,  as  he  caught  the  line  thrown 
him. 

"Los'  'em  all  but  one;  and  that 
leaks.  How  much  of  a  place  you 
got  'ere  ?" 

"  Place  ?  Why,  there  seems  no  end 
to  it.  Think  of  locating  ?" 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


143 


"Wall,  we  ain't  certing;  we're 
looking  'round.  Any  Greasers  here  ?" 

"A  few;  we  haven't  been  troubled 
with  them,  nor  with  Indians  either." 

"  How  long  ye  been  'ere  ?" 

"  Long  enough  to  get  five  thousand 
head  of  cattle,  and  seven  hundred 
sheep,  a  well-watered  ranch,  and  com- 
fortable cabin." 

"How  many  is  thare  of  ye?" 

"Enough  to  protect  our  stock  from 
thieving  Mexicans  or  Comanches." 

"  Wall,  we've  got  aground  here,  an' 
the  tide  won't  lift  us  till  arter  mid- 
night. Kin  ye  take  us  hum  'ith  ye 
for  supper;  or  ain't  yer  wife  ready 
for  comp'ny  ?"  And  the  big,  burly 
men  about  him  laughed  at  their  cap- 
tain's joke. 

One  man  stood  alone  —  his  broad- 
brimmed  hat  pulled  low  over  his 
forehead,  and  his  eyes  fixed  earnestly 
on  the  shore. 

Giving  a  few  orders  to  the  crew, 
the  captain  swung  himself  into  the 
boat.  "  Come,  Delaware  !"  —  the 
young  man  looked  up  —  "a  sniff  of 
land  breeze  '11  hearten  ye  up;  come 
ashore !" 

Four  other  men  sprang  into  the 
boat;  and  Montgomery  rowed  to 
land,  and  led  the  way  to  a  log-cabin 
surrounded  by  a  stockade  fence.  Two 
fierce-looking  dogs  sprang  up;  then, 
seeing  their  master,  stopped  at  the 
gate-way,  growling  threateningly. 

"Be  quiet,  Danger!  Lie  down, 
Ctesar!  Enter,  gentlemen,  and  wel- 
come to  Rancho  Delaware  !  Antonio, 
what  have  we  for  supper  ?"  A  sallow- 
faced  boy,  with  long  black  hair  hang- 
ing to  his  shoulders,  and  deep -set, 
heavy-browed  eyes,  looked  at  the  six 


strangers  entering.  "The  schooner 
was  aground ;  these  men  are  come  to 
eat  with  us.  What  have  you  ?" 

"  Guajolote,  tortillas,  pulque." 

"Good.  Stir  up  a  hoe-cake,  and 
make  some  coffee !  If  you  wish  to 
take  a  look  at  the  country,  gentlemen, 
come  up  to  my  observatory." 

He  led  the  way  up  a  ladder  to  the 
roof  of  the  house.  The  outside  logs 
had  been  carried  up  about  three  feet 
on  each  side  above  the  nearly  flat 
roof,  forming  an  excellent  breastwork, 
in  case  of  an  enemy's  attack,  and  a 
convenient  outlook  for  the  fortifica- 
tion. "This  was  built  when  Texas 
was  a  republic,  and  every  man  had  to 
defend  his  own  castle.  I  have  no  idea 
we  shall  ever  be  attacked,  but  there 
is  no  harm  in  keeping  ready  for  bat- 
tle. With  this  glass,"  pulling  a  tele- 
scope from  under  a  piece  of  awning, 
"  I  can  recognize  the  face  of  a  friend 
half  a  mile  away,  count  my  cattle 
scattered  on  the  prairie,  sight  a  sail 
five  miles  off,  or  gaze  on  the  stars  that 
shine  on  my  old  home.  Sitting  in  this 
arm-chair  of  my  own  manufacture,  or 
swinging  in  this  hammock,  I  see  vi- 
sions, and  dream  dreams,  as  all  lonely 
men  do." 

«  Wall,  Mister— " 

"  Montgomery." 

"An'  my  name's  Jones.  Wall,  Mis- 
ter Montgomery,  you've  got  the  pret- 
test-layin'  farm  I  ever  see  anywhere. 
Them  spots  o'  timber  ain't  wuth  no 
great  amount  for  lumber;  but  they 
set  off  the  country  mighty  nice." 

"  Yes :  those  mots,  as  we  call  them, 
are  more  valuable  than  you  think. 
Water  and  shade  are  found  there, 
shelter  from  the  summer  sun  and  win- 


144 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


ter  winds.  But  come,  supper  must  be 
waiting  us." 

They  seated  themselves  on  the 
wooden  benches  around  the  bare  ta- 
ble. "Roast  turkey  is  not  much  of 
a  treat  to  us,  as  game  is  very  abun- 
dant," Montgomery  said,  pushing  the 
platter  toward  the  captain ;  "  and  tor- 
teelyas  are  rather  too  hot,  with  red 
pepper,  for  any  but  a  Mexican's  stom- 
ach. But  this  poolkii  is  a  drink  even 
a  Yankee  may  delight  in  —  cooling, 
exhilarating,  and  not  intoxicating  to 
any  but  the  weakest  heads.  But  here 
is  coffee,  if  you  prefer  it.  We  have 
sugar,  but  no  milk." 

"An'  thousands  o'  cows?  How's 
that?" 

"  This  is  not  a  dairy  -  farm,  you 
know.  Sometimes  the  boys  lasso  a 
cow,  tie,  and  milk  her;  but  she  doesn't 
give  enough  to  pay  for  the  trouble. 
One  cannot  have  everything,  and  I 
am  content  to  sacrifice  milk  and  but- 
ter for  fruits  and  game.  The  garding 
sass  you  despise,  is  my  chief  living. 
These  cresses  —  you  never  saw  their 
equal  in  size  and  crispness.  Antonio, 
bring  a  basket  of  grapes.  Sorry  I 
have  no  cigars  to  offer;  but  I  never 
smoke,  and  my  partner,  who  uses  to- 
bacco enough  for  two,  is  out  branding 
stock." 

"  Wall,  you're  the  first  man  I  ever 
met  'thout  a  woman  'at  didn't  smoke. 
There's  a  woman  in  it  somehow,  I'll 
bet !" 

Montgomery  looked  annoyed.  The 
youngest  man  of  the  party,  who  had 
spoken  but  seldom,  was  looking  stead- 
ily into  his  face. 

"  Yes,  I  don't  mind  confessing  that. 
When  I  was  a  few  years  younger  than 


you,  sir,"  returning  the  earnest  look, 
"I  was  fortunate  enough  to  meet  one 
of  those  motherly  women  who  are  a 
blessing  to  the  world.  What  I  might 
have  been  but  for  her  advice,  I  do  not 
know.  But  her  words  ring  in  my 
ears  whenever  tempted  to  do  a  foolish 
thing,  and  they  have  kept  me  out  of 
many  a  sin.  Were  any  of  you  ever 
on  the  Delaware  ?" 

A  significant  glance  was  exchanged. 

"  We're  from  all  over,  Mister  Mont- 
gomery. I  come  from  little  Rhody; 
Jim  Mill's  from  England  —  he  has 
traded  with  South  Sea  Islanders,  and 
harpooned  whales." 

"  I  only  asked  because  I  lived  there 
some  months.  I  helped  to  build  the 
New  York  and  Erie  Railroad.  But 
come,  let's  go  and  look  about  the 
place.  If  any  of  you  would  like  a 
ride,  I  can  give  you  as  good  a  mount 
as  you'll  find  in  the  States." 

The  captain  declined,  saying  they 
must  get  aboard  soon;  and, pocketing 
the  money  his  host  had  declined  tak- 
ing, he  warmly  thanked  Montgomery 
for  his  hospitality. 

"I'm  thinkin'  of  settling  down 
som'ers  for  a  spell.  Settin'  up  a  trad- 
in'-post  'ith  the  Greasers  an'  you'uns; 
just  enough  to  keep  my  schooner  go- 
in',  an'  maybe  lay  up  a  leetle.  But  I 
guess  we'd  do  better  to  pint  toward 
Mexico." 

"  Quite  probably,"  Montgomery 
said;  for  he  had  no  desire  to  see 
them  settle  nearer.  ("That  schooner 
is  too  slow  a  craft  for  a  pirate,  and 
too  small  for  a  slaver;  but  the  crew 
might  be  anything,"  he  thought,  "  ex- 
cept that  boy,  and  he  —  how  he  got 
with  such  a  low-down  set  is  a  mys- 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


145 


tery!")  He  watched  them  walking 
down  the  beach,  the  young  man  and 
the  captain  talking  earnestly.  Mont- 
gomery untied  his  boat  and  waited 
for  them.  While  the  rest  were  still 
talking,  the  young  man  walked  hasti- 
ly forward : 

"Mr.  Montgomery,  if  not  asking  too 
much,  would  you  take  me  on  board 
later  in  the  evening?  I  have  the 
captain's  permission  to  stay  on  shore 
an  hour  or  two,  and  accept  your  invi- 
tation for  a  canter  over  the  prairies." 

Montgomery  looked  keenly  into  the 
half -averted  face.  "If  they  meant 
rascality,  they  would  have  trusted  it 
to  a  cooler  head,"  he  thought. — "I 
shall  be  glad  to  have  your  company, 
young  man,"  he  answered,  pleasantly. 
"And  as  for  the  row,  that  will  be  no 
task  at  all." 

The  lighting-up  of  the  youth's  face, 
the  joyous  sparkle  in  his  eye,  gave 
assurance  to  Montgomery  that  no  ill 
was  intended,  and  that  the  pleasure 
given  was  tenfold  greater  than  any 
inconvenience  caused  him.  The  cap- 
tain uttered  a  few  words  in  too  low  a 
voice  for  any  but  the  ears  intended. 
The  young  man's  face  paled,  and  a 
look  of  scorn  and  sorrow  curved  the 
lips  just  shaded  by  a  brown  mustache. 

"  He  wants  to  get  away  from  those 
villains,  and,  Heaven  helping  me,  he 
shall !"  Montgomery  muttered,  as, 
springing  into  the  boat,  he  seized  the 
oars,  and  calling  them  to  "jump  in," 
they  were  soon  at  the  schooner's  side. 

"  Bring  that  thare  boy  o'  mine  back 
'fore  the  tide  turns,  mister.  I  was  a 
tarnel  fool  for  lettin'  him  stay;  but 
he's  be'n  sick  the  hull  v'yage,  an' 
thinks  a  ride  on  a  hoss  '11  kincly  put 
10 


some  heart  in  'im.  Bring  'im  — " 
But  Montgomery's  rapid  strokes  had 
carried  him  beyond  speaking  distance. 

The  sunset  had  scarcely  paled  when 
silvery  moonlight  flooded  the  earth. 
The  horses  were  eager  for  a  gallop. 
The  prairies  stretched  before  them, 
smooth  as  a  well-kept  lawn.  "  Keep 
a  stiff"  rein,  and  look  out  for  rabbit 
burrows,"  Montgomery  said,  and  away 
they  flew. 

Only  once,  a  horse  broke  through 
the  sod  to  his  knees,  and  touched  his 
nose  to  the  ground.  The  rider  threw 
himself  back — the  horse  sprang — was 
up  and  away  in  an  instant. 

"  Many  a  man  gets  pitched  over  his 
horse's  head  by  those  hidden  rabbit- 
holes,"  Montgomery  said,  as  they 
paused  to  breathe  their  horses  on  a 
rise  of  ground.  "  Was  there  ever  a 
lovelier  scene !  That  grimy  old  craft 
of  yours  is  beautified  by  this  light ; 
and  the  Gulf  seems  a  sparkling,  quiv- 
ering mass  of  silver.  How  fragrant 
the  air  is !  Accustomed  to  flowers  of 
every  color  and  shade,  I  never  had  no- 
ticed what  a  variety  could  be  found 
in  a  small  space,  until,  trying  to  de- 
scribe them  to  my  sister,  I  concluded 
to  send  her  specimens.  It  hardly 
seemed  possible  to  her ;  but  in  a  space 
not  more  than  five  feet  square  I  found 
twenty-two  varieties." 

"Your  sister  is  East." 

"Yes:  she  has  been  at  school  for 
some  years ;  but  her  home  is  in  Vir- 
ginia. I  would  be  a  happy  man  if  I 
could  have  her  with  me;  but  this 
rude  life,  with  only  cow-boys  for  com- 
pany, will  never  do  for  a  lady.  I 
hope  to  go  home  and  see  her  soon. 
Why,  what  ails  you,  boy  ?" 


146 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


His  head  had  dropped  forward,  and 
his  face  was  covered  by  his  hands. 
Deep  sobs  seemed  to  shake  his  inmost 
soul.  By  a  terrible  effort  he  choked 
them  down,  brushed  the  tears  from 
his  face,  and  said,  huskily,  "Theo! 
don't  you  know  me  ?  I  am  Davy 
Morgan." 

After  the  surprise,  the  joyful  greet- 
ing, came  a  long  earnest  talk. 

"I  will  never  go  on  board  that 
schooner  again  if  I  die  for  it !  I  can- 
not go  back  home  to  hear  taunts  and 
sneers,  and  be  linger  orders  all  my 
days.  And  I  would  be  watched  by 
members  of  this  gang,  and  the  detec- 
tives too,  whenever  I  went  to  the  city. 
Until  I  have  done  something  to  be 
proud  of — at  least,  until  this  affair  has 
blown  over,  and  I  can  go  home  unsus- 
pected and  independent — I  shall  not 
go  at  all.  Just  as  much  obliged  for 
your  offer,  Theo,  but  I  can't  do  it ! 
You  write  to  your  sister,  of  course  ? 
And  she  is  to  be  with  Miriam  this 
summer — is  probably  there  now;"  he 
swallowed  hard,  and  pressed  his  hand 
to  his  brow.  "Do  not  mention  my 
name  to  her;  do  not  let  her  know  you 
have  seen  me." 

"Is  that  treating  your  mother 
right  ?  Think  how  she  must  be 
grieving — " 

"Stop!  haven't  I  thought  of  it 
when  tossed  up  and  down  by  that  in- 
fernal old  craft  out  there  ?  Thought 
of  it  until  it  seemed  my  heart  would 
burst !  But  what  good  would  it  do 
her  to  know  I  was  a  vagabond? 
What  comfort  to  be  told  I  was  dodg- 
ing the  police,  and  a  marked  man 
among  a  gang  of  cut-throat  robbers. 
When  I  am  fairly  out  of  this  scrape, 


when  I  get  into  some  honorable  em- 
ployment— then  I  will  write  to  moth- 
er. But  I  had  rather  she  would  think 
me  dead  than  know  the  truth  !" 

"Are  not  your  fears  exaggerating 
the  real  crime  and  danger?  The  hid- 
den treasure  is  no  doubt  regarded  as 
lawful  spoil  by  the  men ;  and  though 
some  of  them  are  now  captives  in 
Cuba,  I  do  not  imagine  the  Spaniards 
will  search  for  those  who  escaped : 
nor  does  it  seem  likely  that  our  Gov- 
ernment .will  trouble  itself  about  the 
matter  at  all.  The  best  thing  for  you 
to  do  is  to  go  to  Austin  and  get  in 
some  business.  There  are  many 
things  a  strong  fellow,  educated  as 
you  have  been,  can  turn  his  hand  to. 
The  horse  you  ride  can  carry  you 
there  in  two  days.  You  shall  have  a 
hundred  dollars  to  start  with.  No,  not 
a  word !  You  shall  not  leave  without 
it,  and  you  can  return  it  in  your  own 
time.  Now  we  will  ride  back  to  my 
cabin  and  prepare  for  your  journey." 

"  But  the  schooner—" 

"  Has  floated  off  long  ago.  But  did 
the  captain  tell  the  truth  about  the 
boats?" 

"Yes,  two  were  captured;  the  oth- 
er got  a  hole  knocked  in  her  stern." 

"Too  leaky  to  trust  on  a  smooth 
sea?" 

"Yes;  we  had  no  way  of  getting  to 
shore  until  you  came  and  took  us  off." 

"Then  you  are  safe  from  them  for 
the  present:  and  as  they  intend  to 
keep  by  the  seaboard,  you  have  only 
to  stay  inland.  I  have  no  idea  they 
will  trouble  you.  You  do  not  know 
the  exact  location  of  the  gold,  and 
you  have  no  information  to  give  that 
docs  not  implicate  yourself  as  much 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


14' 


as  them;  so  why  should  they  pursue 
you?" 

Davy  made  no  answer.  They  had 
reached  the  mound  where  they  paused 
before.  The  Gulf  of  Mexico  lay 
stretched  out  before  them,  with  not  a 
sail,  not  a  boat  in  sight.  The  schoon- 
er had  gone. 

"They  must  have  hoisted  all  sail, 
and  swung  off  at  the  turn  of  the  tide. 
Thank  God,  she's  gone !  and  I  pray 
I  may  never  see  the  craft  or  crew 
again." 

Without  rousing  his  partner  or  An- 
tonio, both  being  soundly  asleep  in 
their  bunks,  Montgomery  fed  the 
horse,  packed  the  saddle-bags,  folded 
and  strapped  two  heavy  blankets,  put 
six  Spanish  doubloons  and  some  sil- 
ver coin  in  a  leathern  belt,  which  he 
forced  Davy  to  wear  underneath  his 
garments. 

"I  had  better  give  you  a  bill  of  sale 
for  the  horse,  as  he  is  well  known  in 
these  parts;  and  I  should  hate  to 
have  you  arrested  for  stealing  him. 
You  would  be  better  off  in  the  old 
schooner.  These  Texans  are  a  rough 
lot;  but  just  let  them  know  a  man 
means  to  deal  fair,  and  live  honest, 
and  there's  no  kinder,  nobler,  more 
generous  people  on  earth.  Now, 
good-bye,  Davy.  Write  to  me  when- 
ever you  get  .a  chance  to  send  a  letter 
this  way.  I  may  get  half  of  them, 
and  that's  a  comfort.  Oh,  by-the- 
way,  I  was  writing  Dora  when  I  dis- 
covered your  sail ;  I  thought  it  might 
be  an  opportunity  of  sending  the  let- 
ter to  New  Orleans.  Now,  will  you 
mail  it  for  me  at  Austin?  I  wish  you 
would  let  me  add  a  postscript,  saying 
you  are  here.  I  really  feel  as  though 


they  ought  to  know,  Davy.  Well, 
well,  we  won't  argue  the  matter; 
only,  if  you  think  better  of  it,  you 
may  slip  in  a  line,  or,  better  still,  send 
a  letter  to  your  mother.  Now,  here  is 
a  chart  of  your  way.  The  stars  will 
guide  you  to-night,  and  to-morrow 
morning  you  will  see  the  Colorado  on 
your  left  —  from  there  a  plain  trace 
will  guide  you  to  Austin.  Put  a  line 
in  the  post-office  announcing  your  ar- 
rival, and  it  will  reach  me  after  a 
while.  Here  are  letters  of  introduc- 
tion that  will  help  you  to  work  of 
some  kind  ;  you  will  not  be  particular. 
Now  take  care  of  yourself.  Good- 
bye !" 

The  long,  long  journey  was  ended  ; 
and  Davy  rode  up  the  wide  sandy 
streets  of  Austin  in  the  blaze  of  a 
mid-day  sun,  the  reflected  light  from 
the  white-rock  buildings  sending  flash- 
es of  pain  through  his  eyes.  Dis- 
mounting at  the  post-office,  he  took 
the  letter  to  Dora  from  his  pocket. 
How  he  longed  to  write  one  word  ! 
Oh,  to  think  of  this  paper  being  clasp- 
ed in  her  hands,  pressed  to  her  lips ! 
This  little  fragile  thing  —  if  it  could 
speak,  if  it  could  tell  them  whose 
heart  had  kept  it  warm  for  more  than 
forty  hours  of  hard  riding,  and  brief 
resting,  across  the  wild,  lonely  coun- 
try. For  the  terror  of  being  pursued, 
the  anxiety  to  find  work  and  repay 
the  debt  to  his  friend,  and  be  in  a 
position  to  write  to  the  loved  ones 
at  home  —  all  this  had  spurred  him 
on ;  and  as  he  stood  at  the  post-of- 
fice door,  with  bridle-rein  over  his 
arm,  the  horse  drooped  his  head  wea- 
rily. Two  men  eyed  him  closely. 

"That's    so;    that's    ol'    Blucher, 


148 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


sure's  a  gun !  An'  he's  be'n  put 
through  faster  'n  an  honest  man 
ought  to  ride.  Stranger,"  he  said, 
coming  up  to  Davy,  who  still  stood 
gazing  at  the  letter  in  his  hand, 
"  what  '11  you  take  for  that  cow- 
pony  ?" 

Davy  stared.  "  The  horse  ?  I  don't 
care  to  sell  him,  thank  you ;  at  least, 
not  until  I'm  sure  I  have  no  use  for 
him.  Can  you  tell  me  where  I  can 
find  a  gentleman  named  Lemar  ?" 

"  That's  my  name,  stranger — Louis 
Lemar  ?  Jess  so ;  reckon  I'm  the  man 
you're  inquiring  for." 

"Are  you  a  friend  of  Theodore 
Montgomery  ?" 

"Wall,  I'm  all  that,  an'  a  little 
more.  We're  sort  o'  related.  Did 
he  send  you  to  me  ?" 

"Here's  a  letter  he  gave  me  for 
you;"  and  as  Davy  put  it  in  his  hand, 
he  told  a  negro  boy  to  hold  his  horse, 
and  entered  the  post-office.  A  brief 
note  to  Montgomery  was  written,  and, 
with  Dora's  letter,  given  to  the  clerk. 

"So  you  are  one  of  the  family 
Bruce  has  told  me  about  ?  And 
you've  come  to  Texas  to  seek  your 
fortune  !  I'm  glad  to  know  you,  sir, 
glad  to  know  you !  This  is  Major 
Lally,  Mister  Morgan.  An  old  soldier 
of  '42.  An'  — he-he-he!  ha-ha-ha!  — 
why,  he  an'  I  took  you  for  a  horse- 
thief—fact,  sir !  he-he !" 

The  jolly  red  face  of  Colonel  Le- 
mar grew  crimson  as  he  laughed. 
"Now,  you  are  coming  right  home 
with  me,  and  make  one  of  our  family 
till  you  look  about  you.  Here,  you  " 
— to  the  negro— "take  that  horse  to 
my  stables,  and  tell  Tom  I  sent  him. 
Major,  come  along,  come  along  !" 


But  that  gentleman  excused  him- 
self, and  Davy  and  his  new  friend 
walked  up  the  street  toward  the 
Capitol.  The  stage  dashed  by  them 
and  stopped  at  the  post-office.  The 
mail-bags  were  thrown  out,  some  pas- 
sengers alighted.  A  thick  letter  ad- 
dressed to  Bruce  T.  Montgomery  was 
added  to  the  pile  of  papers  and  Davy's 
note.  Ten  days  later  it  was  opened 
at  the  Rancho  Delaware.  It  was 
written  by  Dora  in  the  first  hours  of 
their  bereavement : 

"  Can  ypu  imagine  how  desolate 
the  place  seems  with  Davy  gone  and 
Jamie  dead  ?  If  it  were  not  for  my 
school,  and  unceasing  efforts  to  assist 
Mira,  I  could  not  stay  here  !  Poor 
Mrs.  Morgan  sits  by  the  window  look- 
ing toward  the  store  all  day  long. 
She  sometimes  walks  to  the  gate  and 
leans  upon  it,  as  though  waiting  for 
some  one  to  come.  Her  hair  has  be- 
come perfectly  white — a  soft  silvery 
white —  and  her  eyes  have  such  an 
expectant,  trustful  radiance  in  them, 
that  her  whole  face  seems  beautified. 
Mr.  Morgan  is  quite  the  same,  only 
more  silent  and  sad.  Poor  man,  I  do 
pity  him !  Dear  Miriam  bears  all  so 
bravely.  She  does  nearly  all  the 
work  of  the  house,  has  rearranged 
Jamie's  library  association,  and  hopes 
to  again  establish  a  temperance  un- 
ion ;  but  several  members  have  broken 
their  pledge,  and  the  others  seem  dis- 
couraged. Jack  aids  her  all  he  can, 
but  it  is  unpleasant  to  have  their 
names  continually  associated.  If 
Davy  were  only  here  !  The  business 
needs  his  attention,  and  the  family 
need  his  company  and  care.  Not  one 
word  have  they  heard  from  him,  nor 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


149 


a  trace  of  his  whereabouts  been 
found." 

The  next  morning  Montgomery 
started  for  Austin ;  but  Davy  had 
gone. 

"He  got  restless,"  Colonel  Lemar 
explained, "  an'  thought  he  might  find 
what  he  wanted  farther  west.  Platte 
was  going  to  San  Antone — had  a  lot 
o'  freight  to  take  over.  Morgan  took 
a  deck-passage  on  the  driver's  seat. 
He  !  he  !  he  !  Reckon  he'll  see  Tex- 
as !  ha !  ha  !  ha !  Gone  as  a  freight- 
er !  What !  bad  news  for  him  ?  Sor- 
ry, sorry !  Nice  fellow.  Can't  do 
anything  for  him  till  Platte  comes 
back.  Reckon  Morgan  will  come 
back  with  him.  Can't  tell,  though. 
Can't  tell.  May  go  on  to  Goliad." 

Montgomery  awaited  Platte's  re- 
turn, but  Davy  was  not  with  him. 
He  had  joined  a  party  of  Americans 
and  Mexicans  going  to  inspect  some 
silver  mines. 

Three  months  passed. 

Montgomery,  with  eye  to  his  tele- 
scope, was  standing  upon  the  roof 
of  his  cabin,  looking  across  the  prai- 
rie. 

The  steady  "  lope  "  of  an  approach- 
ing horse  brought  news,  or  a  friend. 
Either  would  be  most  welcome,  for 
the  steel  -  blue  haze  on  the  horizon's 
edge  foretold  a  wret  norther;  and  a 
three  days'  storm  without  occupation 
or  company  was  a  dreary  prospect. 
"  It  is  old  Blucher !"  and,  hoping  to 
meet  Davy  at  the  gate  -  way,  he  ran 
down-stairs. 

A  stranger  swung  himself  off  the 
horse.  "  How-de,  capt'n?  how-de? 
Brought  some  letters  and  documents 
to  ye.  Some's  from  Colonel  Lemar, 


an'  some's  from  a  young  fellow  in  San 
Antone  de  Bexar." 

"David  Morgan?" 

"  I  reckon  so.  I  was  comin'  to  the 
capital,  an'  promised  him  I  would 
drop  down  on  ye,  ef  I  could,  an'  tell 
you  '  how-de  '  for  him.  He  sent  mon- 
ey to  pay  for  yer  horse ;  but  the  col- 
onel said  he  had  no  use  for  the  animile, 
an'  Morgan  hadn't  had  no  good  of 
him,  so  he  reckoned  I  better  carry  him 
down  yer,  an'  you  could  keep  the  mon- 
ey or  the  horse,  or  both,  ef  ye  liked." 

Davy's  letter  assured  Montgomery 
of  his  health  and  increasing  prosperi- 
ty: "I  have  a  small  store — keep  an 
assortment  that  suits  senoritas,  min- 
ers, cow-boys,  and  planters.  Have,  as 
I  promised  you,  written  mother,  and 
hope  their  anxieties  on  my  account 
are  long  since  relieved.  But  I  have 
received  no  reply  from  any  member 
of  the  family,  though  I  have  since 
written  to  Jamie  and  Miriam." 

A  letter  was  written  that  evening 
while  his  guest  was  dozing  by  the 
fire,  to  be  enclosed  with  the  latest 
messages  from  Dora,  urging  Davy  to 
go  with  him  to  the  States.  For 
Montgomery's  preparations  were  all 
made,  and  he  only  waited  his  part- 
ner's return  with  a  supply  of  provis- 
ions before  starting  on  the  journey. 
The  rain  poured  in  sheets,  the  wind 
and  waves  roared  when  morning 
came,  and  the  traveller  was  storm- 
stayed  for  another  day. 

"I  must  get  out  o'  this  before  sun 
up  to-morrow,"  he  said,  after  he  and 
Montgomery  had  finished  their  stories 
of  the  war  with  Mexico  and  quarrels 
with  the  Greasers.  "  Let's  have  a 
game  of  seven-up." 


150 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


"Very  well;  I've  no  objections  to 
cards,  but  I  never  gamble." 

"Do  you  mean  you'll  play  'thout  a 
stake?" 

"If  you  like." 

"  Why,  I  wouldn't  play  'thout  bet- 
ting something  on  it,  if  no  more  'n  a 
glass  of  aguardiente" 

"  But  I  never  bet,  my  friend ;  so  I 
fear  a  game  would  be  poor  amuse- 
ment. My  library  is  limited,  but  here 
is  a  book  that  was  given  me  by  Mor- 
gan's mother  years  ago.  Let  me  read 
a  little  from  it : 

"  '  0  come,  let  us  sing  unto  the  Lord  :  let  us 
make  a  joyful  noise  to  the  Rock  of  our  salva- 
tion. 

"'Let  us  como  before  his  presence  with 
thanksgiving,  and  make  a  joyful  noise  unto  him 
with  psalms. 

"  'For  the  Lord  is  a  great  God,  and  a  great 
King  above  all  gods. 

" '  In  his  hand  are  the  deep  places  of  the 
earth  :  the  strength  of  the  hills  is  his  also. 

"'The  sea  is  his,  and  he  made  it:  and  his 
hands  formed  the  dry  land. 

"'O  come,  let  us  worship  and  Bow  down: 
let  us  kneel  before  the  Lord  our  maker. 

"  Tor  he  is  our  God  ;  and  we  are  the  people 
of  his  pasture,  and  the  sheep  of  his  hand. 

"  'To-day,  if  ye  will  hear  his  voice,  harden 
not  your  heart.' 

"Living  alone  as  I  do,  with  my 
sheep  and  cattle  around  me,  I  take 
great  delight  in  reading  of  the  old 
patriarchs  and  their  pastoral  lives.  I 
fancy  this  country  must  be  similar  to 
Judea.  Knowing  that  the  strength 
and  beauty  of  the  earth  is  a  part  of 
the  Life  Eternal  that  made  and  keeps 
us,  gives  an  added  glory  to  the  flow- 
er, and  more  grandeur  to  the  ocean. 
"When  going  among  my  flocks,  driv- 
ing them  to  green  pastures  and  still 


waters,  I  am  glad  to  know  the  Lord 
is  my  shepherd." 

"  Well,  Montgomery,  I  haven't  heard 
a  man  talk  religion  outside  the  pulpit 
since  I  left  the  States." 

"Maybe  so,  stranger;  I  don't  often 
talk  of  God;  but  somehow  the  deep 
voice  of  the  waves  makes  me  feel  like 
it  to-night.  I  have  horses  out  there 
on  the  prairie  who  will  not  acknowl- 
edge me  as  their  master,  though  they 
know  I  can  bring  them  on  their  knees 
by  a  lasso  whenever  I  choose.  And 
they  know  too,  or  ought  to  know, 
that  I  do  them  good,  and  not  harm, 
whenever  I  ride  among  them.  Now, 
there's  old  Blucher ;  he  was  a  wild 
horse  on  the  prairie  three  years  ago. 
Sired  by  one  of  those  Kentucky  bloods, 
brought  to  Texas  by  the  Rangers 
(probably  left  riderless  on  some  bat- 
tle-field), Blncher  was  as  much  supe- 
rior to  the  Indian  ponies  as  you  and 
I  are  to  the  Greasers.  Well,  how  or 
when  he  strayed  among  my  herds,  I 
don't  know;  but  he  was  soon  leader, 
though  he  had  to  fight  hard  for  it. 
But  that  horse  kept  unbranded  for 
four  years;  he  would  dodge  the  lasso 
every  time.  Tom  vowed  he'd  ride 
him  down ;  and  nearly  knocked  up 
the  best  cow -pony  we  had.  But 
one  day  Blucher  got  trapped.  Can- 
tering along  with  his  head  up,  and 
mane  and  tail  flying,  down  he  went 
in  a  ditch  of  black  clay.  I  saw  him 
with  my  telescope  from  the  roof.  I. 
was  on  a  pony,  and  after  him  in  a 
flash.  He  jumped,  and  plunged,  and 
struggled,  but  my  lasso  just  settled 
down  over  his  head,  and  I  had  him  1 
He  nearly  choked  to  death  before  he 
would  give  up ;  and  after  ho  was  tied 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


151 


and  blindfolded,  I  found  his  shoulder 
was  sprained.  I  corralled  him — put 
a  stockade  around  him,  in  fact,  before 
I  got  through  with  ray  experiment — 
kept  him.  blindfolded  the  first  time  I 
batbed  him,  and  then  rubbed  and  pet- 
ted him — fed  him  sugar  and  bread, 
when,  he  would  take  them  from  my 
hand— finally  saddled  and  mounted 
him,  and  rode  triumphantly  to  the 
cabin  door.  I  never  had  a  nobler 
beast  under  me,  nor  one  who  took 
more  pride  in  his  paces ;  and  he  is 
handsomer,  more  intelligent,  and  a 
happier  horse  than  if  he  had  never 
surrendered  to  a  higher  power." 

"An'  you  think  a  man  is  just  as 
much  improved  by  owning  God  as 
his  master  ?" 

"More!  Just  as  much  more  as  he 
is  greater  than  a  brute,  and  the  God 
who  made  him  is  higher,  holier  than 
we  are." 

They  sat  silent  for  a  long  time, 
facing  the  fire  of  muskeet  roots  and 
branches,  which  glowed  beneath  its 
many-hued  flames,  while  the  wind 
and  rain  whistled  and  beat  against 
the  log-cabin;  and  the  waves  moan- 
ed drearily  on  the  shore.  But  their 
eyes  and  ears  were  closed  to  the  sights 
around  them.  Their  thoughts  were 
of  the  past. 

"Montgomery,"  the  stranger  said, 
suddenly,  "I  don't  mind  telling  you 
there  was  a  time  when  I  felt  as  you 
do.  But  life's  been  rough  on  me. 
I'd  got  to  thinking  religion's  all  stuff 
an'  blarney  !  I  know  better.  I  know 
you've  spoke  the  truth;  an',  God 
helping  me,"  he  added, rising  up, "I'll 
be  a  better  man.  Give  us  your  hand, 
Montgomery!  Now, good-night,  The 


storm  is  dying  out,  an'  I  must  be  off 
by  sun  up." 

Montgomery  decided  to  wait  until 
Davy  could  join  him.  In  a  few  weeks 
the  answer  came.  He  was  shocked, 
grieved  beyond  all  power  of  expres- 
sion at  his  brother's  death,  and  longed 
to  be  at  home  to  give  what  little  com- 
fort he  could  to  his  mother  and  sister : 
"But  I  could  not  fill  Jamie's  place.  I 
should  only  be  like  a  hired  hand  to 
my  father,  as  I  always  was.  To  be 
tied  down  there  seems  just  as  irksome 
to  me  as  ever.  I  should  only  go  home 
to  leave  again  ;  and  if  I  lose  the  chance 
I  have  now  of  accumulating  a  fortune, 
I  may  never  find  as  good  a  one.  In 
a  year  I  hope  to  go  home  with  mon- 
ey enough  to  begin  business  in  some 
Eastern  city.  Give  them  love  —  oh, 
how  commonplace  that  sounds!  I 
cannot  put  in  words  the  longing  I  feel 
toward  my  mother  and  sister.  To 
think  of  them  in  the  lonely  home 
brings  unmanly  tears  to  my  eyes. 
Only  a  year,  or  perhaps  eighteen 
months,  I  can  be  with  them  again !" 

How  unknown  is  the  future!  The 
messenger  who  brought  the  letter  to 
Montgomery  carried  back  another 
from  Miriam.  It  was  dated : 

"  Home,  October  20th. 
"  Mr    DEAK    AND    OJfLY    BROTHER " 

(she  wrote), — "  Could  you  have  seen 
the  joy  that  one  little  sheet  of  paper 
gave,  you  could  understand  something 
of  the  agony  of  suspense  we  have  en- 
dured. Thank  God  the  message  was 
delayed  no  longer !  It  was  morning 
when  it  came  ;  father  was  in  Philadel- 
phia ;  Dora  had  gone  to  her  school ; 
mother  was  sitting  in  her  usual  place 


152 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


by  the  window  in  the  easy-chair  Jamie 
bought  for  her  a  year  ago;  and  which 
you  remember  she  laughingly  told 
you  she  would  use  when  she  was  old. 
Poor  mother ;  it  was  not  time,  but 
trouble,  that  brought  old  age !  Jack 
brought  the  letter  to  me  tremblingly. 
I  put  it  in  her  hands.  Such  a  light 
came  into  her  face  ! 

" '  It's  from  Davy !  my  precious 
boy !  O  God,  I  thank  thee  !'  She 
held  it  clasped  in  her  hands,  and  tears 
fell  from  her  closed  eyes.  Then  she 
handed  it  to  me :  *  Read  it,  Miriam. 
Stay,  Jack' — for  he  was  quietly  leav- 
ing the  room  —  and  I  read  your  mes- 
sage. 'It  was  not  all  we  would  be 
glad  to  know,'  she  said,  'but  so  much 
is  a  great  blessing.'  Again  she  closed 
her  eyes,  and  we  knew  that  she  was 
praying  for  you,  with  the  letter  fold- 
ed in  her  hands.  Jack  has  had  letters 
from  a  friend  of  our  dear  Jamie,  tell- 
ing about  a  secret  expedition  that 
left  New  York  the  same  time  you  did, 
and  we  have  felt  for  several  reasons 
that  you  were  in  it.  Your  half-reveal- 
ed wanderings  confirm  it.  So,  in  the 
evening  after  Dora  had  again  read 
your  letter  to  mother,  I  brought  Dr. 
Seymour's  letters  and  read  and  ex- 
plained them. 

"Dora  was  much  affected;  but  dear 
mother  was  perfectly  calm.  She  al- 


ways had  a  subtle  insight  into  her 
children's  hearts  that  no  experience 
of  theirs  seemed  to  astonish  or  over- 
whelm. Dora  laid  her  head  on  the 
arm  of  the  big  chair,  and  mother's 
hand  rested  on  her  curls.  'It  is  all 
right,  dear,'  she  said ;  '  trust  our  Sav- 
iour—it is  all  right.  Davy  will  come 
back  again  with  all  his  best  qualities 
improved.  He  needed  the  discipline. 
Oh,  my  boy,  my  boy !'  she  moaned, 
'  you  will  never  see  mother  again !' 
"That  night  she  rested  quietly, 
though  I  do  not  think  she  slept.  She 
rose  as  usual  in  the  morning,  and 
walked  to  her  chair.  All  day  her 
eyes  seemed  following  me,  instead  of 
gazing  out  of  the  window,  as  was  her 
habit.  Often  I  stooped  to  kiss  the 
face  so  like  an  angel's,  and  yet  so  like 
our  mother's  face.  She  always  gave 
me  some  sweet  word  for  each  caress — 
'Faithful  daughter,'  'Precious  child.' 
After  a  little  I  saw  her  eyes  were 
closed,  and  I  thought  her  sleeping. 
Dora  came  from  school,  and  I  mo- 
tioned her  to  be  quiet.  The  setting 
sun  sent  a  ray  of  light  to  linger  on 
her  lovely  face.  I  leaned  over  her  to 
touch  my  lips  to  her  snowy  hair.  Oh, 
Davy !  my  darling  brother !  how  can 
I  tell  you?  There  was  nothing  left 
us  but  the  cold  form !  Mother  had 
gone  home  to  God." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

'  But  love  is  never  lost,  though  hearts  run  waste : 
"Tis  sorrow  makes  the  chastened  heart  a  seer. 
The  deepest  dark  reveals  the  starriest  hope, 
And  faith  can  trust  her  heaven  behind  the  veil. 

GERALD  MASSEY. 


"Ir  really  seems,  Mira,  as  if  the 
summer,  with  Theo's  visit,  were  a 
dream,  and  only  this  snow -shrouded 
earth  and  cold  fierce  winds  were  the 
reality." 

The  girls  were  decorating  the  little 
school-house  for  a  Christmas  festival. 

"  There  were  some  days  of  last  sum- 
mer so  full  of  heart  -  pain  and  loneli- 
ness that  it  is  very  real  to  me,  Dora." 

"Ah  yes, I  know.  But  even  yet  it 
seems,  when  I  walk  home  from  school, 
as  though  I  should  see  your  mother's 
face  at  the  window.  Reason  with 
myself,  chide  myself  as  I  may,  I  still 
feel  disappointed  when  I  come  up  the 
path  and  her  calm,  sweet  smile  does 
not  greet  me." 

Tears  fell  on  the  ferns  Miriam  was 
grouping.  "Only  one  thing  recon- 
ciles me,  Dora :  she  was  tired  of  earth 
and  wanted  to  go." 

There  was  a  long  pause,  broken  only 
by  the  crackling  of  the  fire  and  the 
moaning  of  the  wind. 

"You  have  substantial  proof  that 
your  brother's  coming  was  no  dream, 
Dora." 

"Yes;  a  bank-book  and  my  dear 


good  Liza.  Wasn't  it  the  luckiest 
thing  that  he  stopped  at  St.  Louis  and 
attended  that  slave-auction?  And  it 
was  strange  she  had  persisted  in 
retaining  her  old  name  when  she 
changed  masters.  It  was  the  name — 
Liza  Lemar — attracted  Theo's  atten- 
tion ;  but  she  recognized  him  instant- 
ly. Theo  said  he  would  have  parted 
with  watch  and  coat  rather  than  re- 
fuse to  buy  her  and  her  babies  when 
she  pleaded  so  pitifully.  But  say, 
Mira,  honestly  now,  does  she  work 
enough  to  pay  for  keeping  herself 
and  her  two  pickaninnies  ?  She  nev- 
er did  anything  but  wait  on  table 
and  dress  me  at  uncle's,  and  she  has 
been  a  field-hand  ever  since ;  and  that 
Jerry  is  a  precocious  little  imp.  It 
was  a  perfect  imposition  in  Theo  bring- 
ing them  here." 

"I  do  not  complain.  Liza  is  for- 
getful, but  grateful ;  more  respectful 
than  a  white  servant,  and  quite  as  in- 
telligent. I  do  not  expect  to  get  all 
the  cardinal  virtues  to  live  with  me 
for  their  board  and  clothes.  Jerry  is 
more  amusing  than  a  menagerie  of 
monkeys  and  kittens  combined,  and 


154 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


Elsa  is  as  pretty  as  a  doll.  I  am  sat- 
isfied with  my  bargain,  and  so  is  fa- 
ther since  Liza  has  taught  Jerry  to 
bring  him  his  pipe  and  slippers  when- 
ever he  sits  down  in  his  easy-chair. 
Last  night,  while  you  were  at  Bes- 
sie's, he  taught  Jerry  to  sing  *  Yankee 
Doodle,'  and  actually  took  little  Elsa 
on  his  knee." 

"  I  am  delighted  if  your  father  finds 
amusement  in  Liza's  encumbrances. 
Do  you  know,  Mira,  I  feel  very  sorry 
for  your  father?  Jack  says  there  are 
notes  for  over  four  thousand  dollars 
falling  due  next  month ;  and  he 
doesn't  know  where  a  dollar  of  it  is 
coming  from." 

"  Dora,  I  have  heard  that  story  ever 
since  I  was  born !  The  boys  never 
proposed  any  pleasure  involving  a 
dollar's  expenditure,  but  the  debts 
of  thousands  were  opposed.  Moth- 
er never  suggested  an  improvement 
which  would  save  her  strength  or 
add  to  her  comfort,  but  the  protested 
notes  or  threatened  mortgages  loom- 
ed in  view." 

"But  the  notes  Jack  mentioned 
were  chiefly  endorsements,  where  Mr. 
Morgan,  with  the  kindliest  motives, 
had  gone  security  for  his  friends." 

"  When  a  man  endorses  a  note,  he 
knows  what  it  means.  If  his  friend 
is  so  hard  pressed  that  he  must  bor- 
row, and  his  credit  requires  bracing 
by  another's  credit,  what  reason  has 
the  man  for  thinking  his  friend  will 
be  able  to  pay  the  note  when  due? 
He  seldom  asks ;  he  only  hopes.  Yet 
when  forced  to  meet  it,  he  grumbles 
and  growls  as  if,  by  his  signature,  he 
had  not  agreed  to  do  this  very  thing. 
I  tell  you,  Dora,  this  credit  system  of 


doing  business  is  disgusting  and  dan- 
gerous— a  series  of  frauds  which  often 
deceive  the  deceivers." 

"  But  how  can  it  be  avoided  ?" 

"  By  four  letters :  C,  A,  S,  H." 

"  But  if  you  could  not  get  cash  ?" 

"  Then  I  would  take  its  equivalent. 
For  instance,  when  I  took  lumber  or 
leather  to  market,  I  would  return 
with  goods  for  the  store,  hides  for 
the  tannery,  or  comforts  for  home,  in 
their  place." 

"And  if  a  friend  asked  you  to  en- 
dorse a  note  for  him  ?" 

"I  would  answer,  'My  friend,  by 
putting  my  name  here  I  promise  to 
pay  for  you  so  much  money.  You 
do  not  ask  it  as  a  gift,  so  what  will 
you  give  me  as  a  full  equivalent?'" 

"An  equivalent?  that  mean's  a 
mortgage  or  something,  I  suppose." 

"No:  real  estate  might  depreciate, 
so  that  I  would  lose  my  money ;  then 
I  could  not  pay  my  obligations,  and 
other  people  would  suffer;  or  perhaps 
I  could  not  sell  the  property  at  all. 
He  must  give  me  a  cash  equivalent 
for  the  note." 

"And  if  he  said, '  What  you  require 
would  give  to  me  now  the  needed 
amount?'" 

"  I  would  answer,  '  Friend,  that  is 
also  my  opinion  !' " 

Both  girls  laughed  as  they  tacked 
the  wreaths  of  colored  mosses  and  pa- 
per vases  of  pressed  ferns  upon  the 
white  walls. 

"Maybe  you  would  not  find  it  so 
easy  to  transact  business  in  that  way 
as  you  fancy,  Mira." 

"Perhaps  not;  I  would  like  to  try 
it.  But  this  I  do  know,  Dora :  if  a 
Avoman  took  such  risks  in  her  house- 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


155 


hold  duties,  the  cloth  for  every  gar- 
ment would  fall  short  in  the  cutting, 
and  not  a  meal  would  be  ready  in 
time." 

"That  may  be  all  true.  I  never 
gave  it  a  thought  before,  innocently 
supposing  men  knew  how  to  manage 
their  affairs  in  a  sensible  way.  But, 
unreasonable  as  it  may  be,  Mira,  I  am 
sorry  for  your  father;  he  looks  so 
care-worn,  and  seems  so  lonely." 

"Dora,  my  dear  sister,  please  do 
not  misunderstand  me:  I  pity  my  fa- 
ther from  my  inmost  heart — pity  him 
for  giving  pecuniary  credit  to  stran- 
gers, and  denying  affection's  credit  to 
his  family ;  pity  him  most  of  all  be- 
cause he  would  indignantly  spurn  the 
sympathy  his  soul  craves !  My  fa- 
ther has  a  strong,  self-reliant  nature, 
and  lias  battled  with  adverse  circum- 
stances all  his  life.  Not  one  desire, 
not  one  ambition,  has  been  satisfied ; 
and  now,  when  age  and  sorrow  are 
weakening  his  body,  his  spirit  faces 
and  fights  the  obstacles  just  as  defi- 
antly as  ever." 

"  You  mean  as  bravely  as  ever." 

"  Yes,  it  is  brave ;  though  I  cannot 
help  seeing  how  easily  many  obstacles 
might  have  been  removed ;  how  diffi- 
culties were  at  first  only  trifles ;  how 
a  kindly  word  might  have  transform- 
ed a  malicious  enemy  into  a  valuable 
friend ;  in  short,  how  much  strength 
and  skill  have  been  wasted,  how 
much  energy  and  intellect  misdirect- 
ed :  and  where  arrogance  failed,  gen- 
tleness might  have  won.  His  un- 
yielding spirit  must  need  this  disci- 
pline. I  do  not  think  the  Master  has 
allowed  him,  or  us  through  him,  to 
suffer  too  much.  And  yet,  Dora,  the 


object  of  my  father's  coming  into  this 
wilderness,  away  from  all  culture  and 
comradeship— the  object  for  which  he 
has  worked  and  worried  a  score  of 
years — is  slipping  from  his  grasp,  and 
may  never  be  attained." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  This  property,  which  was  almost 
free  from  debt  when  Jamie  left  us,  is 
now  badly  involved ;  to  what  extent 
I  do  not  know,  nor  whether  father  has 
any  plans  for  releasing  it." 

"  My  poor  Mira !  I  did  not  know 
the  trouble  was  so  serious." 

"It  is  not  the  loss  of  the  property 
I  mind,  so  much  as  the  suspense  and 
the  forced  inaction.  If  father  would 
give  me  a  share  of  the  labors  and  re- 
sponsibilities of  the  business,  I  know 
I  could  save  him  some  care  and  many 
dollars.  But  to  be  forced  to  idly 
wait  and  wonder  and  dread — this  is 
misery !" 

The  last  festoon  of  evergreen  was 
arranged,  and  the  girls  stepped  to  the 
entrance  to  view  the  effect. 

"Now  fancy  the  gift -tree  in  the 
centre  of  the  platform,  with  the  little 
candles  Bessie's  making,  all  ablaze, 
and  the  little  lace  bags  full  of  candy, 
and  apples  and  strings  of  pop -corn 
loading  the  branches.  What  a  jolly 
time  those  urchins  of  mine  will  have  !" 

"What  is  your  programme  for 
Christmas-eve  ?" 

"  Oh,  we  are  to  have  a  chorus  from 
the  school,  and  a  speech  from  Squire 
Noyes  —  don't  raise  your  eyebrows 
so— of  course  we  must  have  a  speech; 
the  American  mind  ever  demands  a 
speech,  and  who  so  able  to  gratify 
both  juvenile  and  masculine  tastes  as 
the  I -flatter- myself  squire?  Then 


156 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


Jack  has  promised  a  song,  after  which 
a  few  remarks  from  Miss  Morgan  will 
be  in  order.  No  ?  Well,  then,  little 
Sammy  Jenkins  will  recite  '  'Tvvas  the 
night  before  Christmas.'  That  is  too 
funny  for  anything !  He  jumbles  and 
stumbles  over  the  lines  at  racing 
speed,  never  stopping  to  pick  up  the 
dropped  words  or  catch  his  breath, 
making  the  most  absurd  gestures  and 
funniest  grimaces." 

"But  why  haven't  you  taught  him 
to  say  it  properly  ?" 

"  Oh,  he  learned  it  at  home,  and  I 
dare  not  interfere  with  Polly's  teach- 
ing. Sam  taught  the  gesticulations, 
I  think.  The  boy  is  a  perfect  per- 
sonification of  Puck.  After  that  per- 
formance, the  goodies  will  be  distribu- 
ted to  all,  and  my  special  gifts  to  the 
scholars ;  then  another  chorus  and  dis- 
missal. Mira,  I  do  believe  it  is  rain- 
ing' again." 

"I  hope  not.  It's  an  old  saying 
that  if  the  river  shuts  up  before  Christ- 
mas 'twill  break  up  before  New-year's ; 
but  the  weather  has  been  so  intensely 
cold,  the  ice  must  be  very  thick,  and 
the  river  is  very  low." 

"Jack  says  a  rise  in  the  branches 
would  cause  a  break-up  here  without 
much  rain.  Just  look  what  a  quanti- 
ty of  logs  are  on  the  bank,  and  the 
board-yard  is  almost  full.  What  im- 
mense loads  of  lumber  those  teams 
are  drawing !" 

They  stood  by  the  window,  looking 
at  the  dull  gray  sky,  black  mountains, 
and  white  valley,  with  snow -roofed 
buildings  and  snow  -  walled  paths. 
Some  men  unloading  sleighs  of  scant- 
ling, and  adding  it  to  the  piles  on 
the  river -bank,  the  blanketed  teams 


stamping  restlessly  in  the  snow — 
these  were  the  only  signs  of  life.  The 
south  wind  blew  in  fitful  puffs  as  the 
girls  walked  homeward,  and  the  gray 
light  of  evening  settled  down  in  the 
little  valley.  A  crimson  radiance 
swept  across  the  road  from  the  door- 
way of  the  blacksmith-shop ;  and  Jack 
wras  lighting  the  lamps  in  the  store  as 
they  passed  by. 

"Let's  go  in  for  a  moment,"  said 
Dora. 

"  You  may  ;  and  get  the  mail  if  we 
have  any.  I  must  hurry  home  and 
get  supper." 

A  half -hour  later  Dora  and  Jack 
entered.  "No  more  customers  to- 
night," he  said,  shaking  the  rain-drops 
from  his  coat.  "'Twill  take  the  ice 
out  if  it  rains  a  day  or  two  longer.  I 
doubled  the  ropes  on  them  maple 
rafts  this  afternoon,  though  your  fa- 
ther thought  it  was  nonsense.  He 
don't  think  the  ice  will  go  out ;  but 
Long  John  does,  and  he's  the  surest 
weather  prophet  I  know  of.  Supper  ? 
Yes,  your  father  heard  the  bell,  but  he 
is  posting  books.  Let's  go  and  try 
that  new  music  till  he  comes." 

The  songs  were  sung,  the  supper 
eaten  and  cleared  away ;  but  Jack  lin- 
gered by  the  fireside,  now  and  then 
throwing  a  stick  on  the  blazing  em- 
bers and  watching  the  sparks  fly  up 
the  wide  chimney.  Dora  had  excused 
herself  and  gone  to,  her  room.  Mr. 
Morgan  wound  up  the  clock,  set  back 
the  chairs,  and  entered  his  bedroom, 
closing  the  door  emphatically.  Yet 
Jack  did  not  go.  Miriam's  needle 
flew  in  and  out  of  the  canvas  she 
was  embroidering.  The  rain  dashed 
against  the  windows,  the  wind  whis- 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


15; 


tied  and  moaned  at  the  doors.  Jack 
leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  looked 
long  and  tenderly  at  the  fair,  earnest 
face  before  him. 

"Miriam"  —  the  dark  eyes  looked 
inquiringly  into  his  — "  Miriam,  it 
was  just  twenty -two  years  ago  to- 
day that  your  mother  put  you  in  my 
arms.  I  was  a  shy,  awkward  boy,  an' 
you  was  the  prettiest  baby  ever  was ! 
You  looked  up  in  my  face  an'  laugh- 
ed jest  the  sweetest  little  gurgle  of  a 
laugh,  an'  I  could  'ave  gone  down  on 
my  knees  an'  worshipped  ye  then ; 
you  seemed  so  sort  o'  holy!  "Well, 
Miriam,  you  know  how  it's  been  ever 
sence.  Wen  you  got  big  enough  to 
go  to  school,  I  drawed  ye  on  my 
hand-sled.  I  learned  ye  to  skate,  an' 
ride  horseback,  an'  drive ;  I  whittled 
out  playthings  an'  tended  your  flow- 
ers; I  done  everything  I  could  to 
make  you  happy.  No,  don't  interrupt 
me,  please,  Miriam!  Don't  think 
I'm  mentioning  this  'cause  I  feel  's  if 
you  owed  me  anything !  Heaven 
knows  I've  been  paid  a  hundred-fold 
by  seeing  one  glad  smile  in  your  eyes ; 
an'  when  you  used  to  come  an'  nestle 
your  little  hand  in  mine,  an'  raise 
them  moist  rosy  lips  for  a  kiss — why, 
Miriam,  I'd  resk  my  life — my  soul — 
for  your  sake.  Oh,  don't  go  'way ! 
Miriam,  for  once,  only  this  once,  listen 
to  me  !  An'  then  I'll  go  'way,  where 
you'll  never  see  nor  hear  from  me 
again;  or  I'll  stay  an'  work  on  an' 
keep  silent, jest  as  you  say.  Miriam, 
'tain't  much  I  ask." 

She  stood  before  him,  flushed,  tear- 
ful, half  yielding,  half  turned  away. 
"  Oh,  Jack !  oh,  my  dear,  good  friend  ! 
I  know  what  you  would  tell  me ;  but 


can't  you  see,  don't  you  feel,  what  I 
must  answer?"  And  her  hands  cov- 
ered the  crimson  face  as  she  sank  on 
the  stool  at  his  feet. 

"  No,  Miriam ;  you  don't  know  all  I 
have  to  tell  you.  'Taiu't  only  to  say 
I  love  you  !  Every  act,  an'  word,  an' 
look,  has  told  ye  that  sence  you  can 
remember,  an'  yet'  ye  can't  know 
what  it  means !  Nobody  does,  'nless 
they've  seen  the  sunshine  glorified, 
an'  the  hull  earth  look  radiant  when 
a  woman  smiled,  an'  the  earth  an'  the 
air  seem  to  lose  their  brightness  when 
she  went  away.  Oh,  Miriam,  you 
don't  know  nothin'  'bout  a  man's  love ! 
No  other  woman  has  ever  attracted 
me  for  a  moment.  You  have  stood  in 
the  place  of  God  to  me;  my  judge, 
my  lawgiver!  Anything  that  could 
debase  me  in  your  sight,  I  have  turn- 
ed from  with  loathing ;  anything  that 
would  make  you  think  well  of  me,  I 
have  tried  with  all  my  might  to  be 
and  do.  An'  what  for,  Miriam?  I 
knew  you  only  thought  of  me  as  a 
friend  —  a  sort  of  adopted  brother ;  I 
knew  you  was  my  superior  in  every 
way,  an'  wa'n't  in  no  way  adapted  to 
me  nor  my  life.  Yet,  Miriam,  jest  so 
long  as  you  loved  nobody  any  better; 
so  long  as  you  come  to  me  for  help  or 
for  counsel  now  an'  then — so  long  as 
you  needed  me,  Miriam  —  why,  I  was 
willing  to  stay  and  work  on  right 
here." 

"Then  why  have  you  spoken  now? 
Oh,  Jack!  understanding  it  all  so 
well,  why  give  us  both  this  suffer- 
ing?" 

"Because  I  had  to:  your  father 
told  me  to  speak !  His  business  is  in 
a  bad  condition.  He  needs  a  junior 


158 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


partner  to  manage  the  mills.  He  told 
me  to  marry  bis  daughter  an'  take  a 
third  interest  in  the  business. 

"  Don't  move  away  from  me,  Miri- 
am !  I  told  him  we  did  not  care  for 
each  other  in  that  way.  He  said  he 
knew  I  had  no  bad  habits,  was  indus- 
trious, honest,  and  so  on,  an'  that  you 
liked  nobody  any  better.  You  was 
a  good  housekeeper,  and  I  liked  you 
better  'n  anybody  else.  Said  he  felt 
anxious  to  have  you  settled.  He 
would  build  a  house  for  you  and 
furnish  it.  The  partnership  would 
begin  in  January ;  our  marriage  be 
in  the  spring." 

Miriam  rose  and  walked  to  the  fire- 
place, resting  her  head  against  the 
mantel.  Jack  stood  with  fingers 
tightly  clasped,  and  his  pale  face 
twitching  with  suppressed  pain. 

"I  see  what  you  hate  to  say,  Mir- 
iam. It  hurts  you  to  think  of  me  as 
your  husband !  Be  as  kind  as  I  could, 
as  wise  as  I  could,  'twouldn't  satisfy 
you,  an'  thinkin'  you  ough'  to  love  me 
more  'n  you  could  would  make  you  un- 
happy, maybe,  an'  both  of  us  misera- 
ble. 

"  Well,  I  won't  say  no  more,  never! 
We'll  let  things  be  as  they  have  been. 
I  will  do  my  best  in  the  store,  an'  help 
your  father  all  I  can.  Good -night, 
Miriam.  Don't  let  this  trouble  you; 
you  are  just  the  same  to  me  you've 
always  been." 

He  opened  the  door.  A  gust  of 
rain  and  wind  swept  in. 

"Hark!  What's  that?  Not  the 
ice  ?  It  is !  The  ice  is  going  out  /" 

He  rushed  out  into  the  darkness 
— ran  up  the  road — across  the  bridge 
—  and  was  rapping  at  Bill  Morris's 


door  as  Miriam  awakened  her  fa- 
ther. 

"  It  can't  be  the  ice  !"  Mr.  Morgan 
exclaimed.  "  It  is  the  wind  you 
hear." 

But  a  louder  roar  and  a  crash  like 
a  falling  forest  answered  him. 

"It  is  going  !  and  twenty  thousand 
feet  of  lumber  will  go  with  it.  Good 
heavens !  haven't  I  anybody  to  help 
me?" 

He  rushed  from  the  house,  without 
hat  or  coat,  wildly  shouting,  "  Bill ! 
Jack!  Help  here!" 

The  wind  tossed  his  appeal  to  the 
clouds.  The  roar  from  the  maddened 
river  grew  louder. 

Crash  !  crash !  came  the  ice  against 
the  shore ;  the  trees  shivered  and  fell ; 
the  piles  of  lumber  heaved  slowly  up- 
ward, slid  downward,  and  were  borne 
away.  Huge  logs  reared  themselves 
like  trees,  leaned  shoreward  implor- 
ingly, then  plunged  desperately  be- 
neath the  crowding  cakes  of  ice,  and 
were  carried  on. 

"Bill!  Jack!"  —  the  frenzied  man 
ran  on — "  the  ice  is  going  out !  All 
hands  help!" 

"Yes,  sir;  we're  coming!"  two 
voices  answered,  as  Bill  crossed  the 
bridge  —  already  upheaved  by  the 
flood — with  a  boat-hook  in  one  hand 
and  a  lantern  in  the  other;  and  Jack 
ran  from  the  store  with  a  coil  of  rope 
on  either  arm.  The  rain  had  ceased, 
and  the  clouds  were  rolling  and 
tossing  as  the  moonlight  struggled 
through. 

"  Father,  father !" — it  was  Miriam's 
voice — "  here's  your  coat  and  hat ;  let 
me  help  you." 

She  put  the  unresisting  arm  in  the 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


159 


sleeve.  "  Now  the  other,  so ;  and 
here's  the  lantern,  father." 

He  took  it  mechanically  from  her 
hand,  gazing  steadily  out  on  the  mass 
of  rolling  ice  as  it  ground  the  timber 
to  atoms  and  shook  the  ground  be- 
neath his  feet.  The  men  were  run- 
ning from  one  point  to  another,  yell- 
ing directions  which  no  one  heeded, 
striving  to  rescue  some  lumber  from 
the  general  ruin.  In  vain !  The  ca- 
bles snapped  like  cords.  The  rafts 
floated  away  on  the  swelling  waters, 
and  the  ice-blocks  leaped  upon  them, 
tore  them  stick  from  stick,  whirled 
and  tossed  them,  and  bore  them  away. 
The  frantic  bellowing  of  a  calf,  the 
cackle  of  hens,  and  a  black  mass  float- 
ing by,  told  them  Long  John  had  lost 
his  barn.  Now  a  haystack,  now  a 
raft,  now  a  boat  went  by.  The  ice 
reared  itself  block  on  block,  the  blue 
edges  glistening  in  the  moonlight,  till 
they  overtopped  the  highest  bank; 
then  fell  with  a  deafening  crash  and 
a  roar  that  seemed  to  shake  the  sky. 
Then  came  a  pause  and  a  swift  surge 
backward  of  the  angry  waters. 

"Til's  damming  up!"  Big  Bill  yell- 
ed. "  Now  we'll  get  drownded  clean 
out." 

The  men  left  the  lumber  and  ran  to 
the  tannery  and  mill. 

"  It's  no  use,"  muttered  Mr.  Mor- 
gan, as  he  tried  to  follow  them.  "  It 
will  all  go !  Wife,  sons,  all  are  gone  ! 
Everything's  gone." 

"  I'm  here,  father ;  you  have  me." 
Miriam's  arm  was  around  him,  Miri- 
am's face  close  to  his.  He  did  not 
hear  her ;  he  did  not  think  of  her. 

"  Please  come  to  the  house,  father ! 
There  are  enough  men  here  now. 


You  are  all  wet  and  shivering  with 
cold." 

He  pushed  her  aside  impatiently. 
"  Go  'way,  go  'way  !  This  is  no  place 
for  a  girl.  Go  pack  up  your  clothes : 
the  house  may  go  before  morning." 

He  walked  toward  the  mill,  but  the 
bridge  had  gone.  The  water  already 
surrounded  the  tannery,  and  logs  and 
ice  were  floating  up  the  valley,  borne 
upon  the  resistless  current  of  backwa- 
ter. Then  came  a  low  rumbling  and 
a  crash,  as  though  the  foundations  of 
the  earth  were  rent  asunder;  one  surg- 
ing, seething  moan,  and  the  black 
waters  sucked  in  every  floating  thing 
and  rushed  away  into  the  mighty 
river.  Every  man  stared  breathless- 
ly at  the  two  buildings :  were  they 
undermined  ?  and  would  they  fall  ? 
Old  Mose's  voice  shouted  a  reply, 
half  drowned  by  the  roar  of  waters : 

"That  tha-ur  mill  won't  go.  Got  a 
good  foundation  ;  laid  it  myself.  An' 
the  tannery  won't  go  nuther:  there 
hain't  no  current  agin  it  neow." 

"  I  apprehend  little  further  danger," 
Squire  Noyes  said  to  Miriam  and 
Dora,  as  with  hands  clasped  they 
stared  in  agony  at  the  destruction 
around  them. 

"  Oh,  if  the  mill  and  tannery  are 
not  ruined,  we  may  make  up  the  loss ; 
but  see  those  scantling  rafts,  Dora ! 
all  broken  into  kindling-wood.  The 
labor  of  months  past,  the  hope  for 
years  to  come,  all  destroyed  in  an 
hour !  Oh,  it  is  terrible  !" 

The  overstrained  nerves  began  to 
yield.  Miriam  trembled  like  a  tree 
shaken  by  the  wind.  Dora's  tears, 
repressed  for  a  moment  by  the  ago- 
ny of  increased  terror,  began  to  flow 


160 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


again.  "  Oh  me  !  oh  me  !"  she  sobbed. 
"  It  is  too  awful !  Everything  will 
have  to  be  sold — there's  no  lumber  to 
pay  the  debts  —  oh,  what  shall  we 
do?" 

"Dora" — it  was  Jack's  voice,  and 
Jack's  face — white  and  aged  since  she 
saw  it  by  the  evening  fire-light — look- 
ed sternly  into  hers — "you'd  better 
go  to  the  house  an'  have  Liza  build 
a  fire  and  get  dry  clothes  ready  for 
Miriam.  She'll  come  when  she  sees 
the  buildings  are  safe."  He  took  the 
unresisting  hand  in  his,  and  Miriam 
followed  him  up  the  road,  while  Dora 
hurried  to  the  house,  crying  as  she 
ran. 

"The  store  ain't  touched  by  th' 
water,  Miriam,  nor  the  house  nuther; 
the  vats  is  overflowed  to  th'  tan'ry, 
and  maybe  some  leather  spoilt  in  th' 
dryin'-house;  but  the  buildings  is  all 
right.  Bill  and  Sam  got  over  the 
bridge  jest  as  it  went  off.  Lucky 
they  did,  for  they  can  get  the  flood- 
trash  out  th'  mill :  no  knowing  when 
they'd  a'  got  over  now,  fur  every 
stick  o'  th'  bridge  went,  an'  th'  boats 
are  all  gone.  Guess  I  can  make  a 
float  an'  pole  up  to  the  bark -sheds, 
an'  see  how  much  damage  is  done 
around  there:  the  flat  is  washed  out 
some,  I  s'pose.  Them  two  maple  rafts 
that  I  put  niore  ropes  on  didn't  go ; 
they  was  shoved  up  on  the  eddy  lot, 
an'  are  all  covered  up  by  cakes  of 
ice.  Guess  when  the  water's  gone 
down  we  can  pick  up  a  lot  o'  lumber 
worth  rafting  over.  Things  ain't  half 
so  bad  as  they  might  be." 

A  grateful  glance  was  reward 
enough  for  his  attempt  at  consola- 
tion. 


"  I  will  have  breakfast  ready  soon," 
Miriam  said,  as  Jack  left  her  at  the 
gate.  "Have  the  men  who  worked 
all  night  come  in." 

The  crimson  light  of  sunrise  tinged 
the  sky  and  rested  on  the  eastern 
hills ;  the  snow-capped  rocks  glittered 
like  masses  of  gold.  Brighter,  fairer 
grew  the  morning,  while  a  mist  cov- 
ered the  narrowing  river,  concealing 
the  ruin  night  and  rain  had  wrought. 

Slowly  the  white  vapor  rose,  the 
gilded  hills,  the  radiant  sky  vanished ; 
only  the  faint  outlines  of  home  were 
visible  beneath  a  dull  gray  sky. 

"  How  like  my  life  !"  Miriam  sigh- 
ed, wearily,  as  she  turned  away  and 
entered  the  house. 

The  Christmas  holidays  were  over. 
The  mill  had  been  repaired,  and  work- 
men were  busy  restoring  bridges,  tan- 
nery vats,  mill-dams,  and  shops.  The 
monotonous,  never -completed  labors 
of  house  and  store  went  on  as  usual ; 
and  the  school  resumed  its  daily  ses- 
sions. 

One  sunlit  evening,  Dora,  walking 
homeward,  stopped  at  the  post-office 
for  the  mail.  Several  papers  for  her- 
self and  a  letter  for  Mira  were  given 
her. 

"  It  is  from  Miss  Caldwell,"  she  said 
to  Jack.  "I'm  so  glad  she  has  writ- 
ten at  last!  We  have  not  heard  a 
word  from  her  since  she  left  the  old 
Sem  and  went  to  Philadelphia." 

Miriam  read  its  contents  with  sur- 
prise. "  Dora,  she  is  going  West  as 
a  missionary  to  the  Indians !  Did 
you  ever  hear  anything  so  strange? 
With  her  culture  and  refinement,  her 
horror  of  anything  rude  or  vulgar, 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


1G1 


and  her  utter  ignorance  of  uncivilized 
customs;  why,  one -half  her  salary 
would  support  a  more  efficient  mis- 
sionary than  she  will  make,  and — " 

"  Oh,  read  the  letter  to  me,  and 
moralize  afterward." 

"'MY  DEAK  MIRIAM, — Circumstan- 
ces which  I  may  never  be  able  to 
explain,  make  it  necessary  for  me  to 
leave  my  pleasant  school  and  all  the 
associations  which  have  made  this  the 
happiest  year  of  my  life.  I  would  be 
glad  to  leave  my  dearly  loved  pupils 
in  charge  of  some  one  I  know  and  can 
trust.  I  have  thought  of  Dora  Mont- 
gomery. If  she  is  with  you  and  is 
willing  to  take  my  position,  ask  her 
to  come  on  at  once,  that  I  may  give 
her  some  aid  in  adopting  my  meth- 
ods, which  are  very  successful  and 
highly  commended.  It  will  be  a  con- 
solation to  me,  in  my  exile,  to  know 
that  one  of  my  most  esteemed  young 
ladies  of  the  past,  which  contrasted 
with — ' 

("  Something  has  been  erased.  How 
different  this  letter  appears  from  her 
usual  elegant  chirography !  I  cannot 
understand  it." 

"  "Well,  read  on ;  maybe  I  can.") 

"'You  will  pardon  my  evident 
haste  when  I  tell  you  I  am  preparing 
to  go  to  the  Western  wilds  as  a  mis- 
sionary to  the  Sioux  Indians.  My  in- 
tentions are  as  yet  kept  a  secret  from 
my  friends  and  pupils.  "When  a  sub- 
stitute is  found  for  my  school  and 
my  preparations  are  completed,  then 
I  will  declare  my  purpose.  Let  me 
hear  from  you  by  return  mail.  I 
trust  Dora  will  accept  the  situation ; 
she  cannot  obtain  one  more  lucrative 
11 


or  pleasant.  "With  love  to  you,  my 
dear  Miriam,  I  must  close.  We  may 
never  meet  again  in  this  life,  but  I 
pray  we  may  see  each  other  in  that 
far-off  heaven  where  the  wicked  cease 
from  troubling  and  the  weary  are  at 
rest.  Your  attached  friend, 

"'ANNA  CALDWELL.'" 

"  She  does  not  say  one  word  about 
terms  or  the  number  of  her  pupils," 
said  Dora.  "Our  methodical  precep- 
tress is  excessively  flustrated  about 
something.  What's  that  about  the 
wicked  ceasing?  Somebody's  troub- 
ling the  dear  little  soul.  Oh,  say, 
Mira,  didn't  our  uncle  Walton  get 
that  school  for  her  ?" 

"  Yes ;  that  is,  he  engaged  and  fur- 
nished her  school-room,  and  by  his  in- 
fluence obtained  the  larger  portion  of 
the  scholars  :  you  know  he  thinks  she 
has  no  equal  as  a  teacher.  But  what 
do  you  say  to  her  proposal  ?" 

"What  shall  I  say,  Mira?" 

"I  do  not  want  to  prevent  your 
getting  a  larger  salary,  or  having 
more  congenial  society  than  these 
woods  can  furnish,  but  oh,  my  sister, 
it  will  be  very  hard  to  let  you  go !" 

Dora  threw  her  arms  around  Mira's 
neck  and  kissed  her  lips. 

"  That  settles  it,  you  blessed  old  dar- 
ling !  I  was  awfully  afraid  you  want- 
ed to  get  rid  of  me.  No,  indeed  !  Miss 
Caldwell  will  have  to  hunt  another  sub- 
stitute. But  what  in  the  world  makes 
her  leave  so  desirable  a  situation,  do 
you  suppose  ?  Is  Mrs.  Walton — " 

"What,  Dora?" 

"No  matter;  it  is  none  of  my  busi- 
ness, anyway.  But  I  don't  believe  it 
is  love  for  Poor  Lo  takes  her  into  the 


162 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


wilderness.  I  will  write  to  her  this 
evening." 

"Dora,  you  know  our  brothers  say 
they  are  coming  home  soon  ?" 

"Yes." 

"How  the  pleasure  of  their  coming 
would  be  spoiled  if  you  were  not 
here !" 

"  Mira,  my  sister,  I  don't  want  to 
go.  I  would  rather  teach  these  ea- 
ger-faced, wide-awake  urchins  than 
the  most  refined  and  fashionable  chil- 
dren in  the  land.  I  would  not  ex- 


change my  home  here  among  the  hills 
for  any  city  boarding  -  house ;  and, 
ma  chtre  belle  sceur,  you  know  there  is 
no  society  in  the  world  so  delightful 
to  me  as  your  own.  So  let's  write 
our  regrets  to  Miss  Caldwell,  wishing 
her  all  the  success  possible  in  her  now 
sphere,  and — then  don't  let's  say  an- 
other word  about  it." 

The  lamps  were  lighted,  the  curtains 
drawn,  and  again  the  little  household 
settled  down  to  the  routine  of  fireside 
pleasures  and  daily  duties. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

"So  long!    I  announce  a  life  that  shall  be 

Copious,  vehement,  spiritual,  bold. 
And  I  announce  an  old  age  that  shall 
Lightly  and  joyfully  meet  its  translation." 

WALT  WHITMAN. 


"THREE  years  and  a  half  since 
Theo  was  here,  is  it  not  ?  a  brief,  sad 
visit !  And  now  we  are  going  to  have 
both  our  brothers  near  us  for  good 
and  all !  It  really  seems  too  good  to 
be  true,  doesn't  it,  Dora  ?  I  expect 
Davy  will  be  changed  considerably 
by  four  years  on  the  frontier." 

"Yes;  'bearded  like  a  pard,'  no 
doubt." 

"And  sunbrowned.  But  his  eyes — 
they  will  be  unaltered — such  laughing, 
sparkling  eyes  Davy  has !  But  I  sus- 
pect he  will  find  us  changed,  too.  And 
poor  father !  always  so  strong  and  ac- 
tive, to  see  him  sit  thei-e  helplessly  wait- 
ing for  some  one's  hands  and  feet  to 
serve  him !  Don't  you  think,  Dora, 
that  he  can  speak  more  distinctly  than 
when  he  was  first  paralyzed  ?" 

"I  do  not  know.  This  morning  he 
told  Jack  to  have  the  deed  of  the 
Wharton  place  recorded  immediately. 
Jack  said,  'Yes,  sir,'  as  he  always 
does ;  but  I  felt  sure  he  did  not  know 
one  word  your  father  said ;  so  I  fol- 
lowed him  out  and  explained.  It 
happened  to  be  something  of  impor- 


tance, and    your   father    seemed    so 
pleased  at  being  understood." 

"Then,  really,  I  suppose  he  is  no 
better.  What  a  mercy  he  can  speak 
at  all !  If  he  had  been  picked  up 
dead  when  he  fell  in  the  store,  our 
whole  pi'operty  might  have  been 
wasted  in  settling  false  claims  and 
debts  long  since  paid.  I  have  com- 
pelled men  to  give  me  receipts  for 
money  paid  years  ago,  and  collected 
debts  Jack  said  were  outlawed.  How 
provoked  Davy  would  be  to  look  over 
Jack's  ledger!  There  are  accounts 
running  into  hundreds  of  dollars 
against  men  who  own  nothing  —  not 
even  the  clothes  they  wear — men  who 
are  never  honest  till  they  must  be, 
and  whom  Davy  never  trusted  to  a 
dime's  worth  of  anything.  But  fa- 
ther, for  all  he  seemed  so  stern,  could 
never  refuse  a  skilful  pleader.  He 
often  reminded  me  of  the  unjust 
judge:  'Because  this  woman  troub- 
leth  me,'  the  request  was  granted. 
Yesterday  Jack  received  a  new  set  of 
books,  and  a  list  of  names  not  to  be 
recorded." 


164 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


"  But  what  will  these  people  do  ?" 

"  Learn  to  be  honest,  I  hope.  Do 
Avith  less,  and  earn  enough  to  pay  for 
it.  It  is  a  sin  to  reduce  laborers  to 
paupers.  In  this  lumbering  country, 
where  labor  is  fluctuating,  there  is  a 
constant  tendency  to  overwork  and 
idleness.  Between  the  rafting  seasons 
there  are  lands  to  clear,  and  fields  and 
gardens  to  till.  Both  stock  and  dairy 
farms  are  needed  here,  and  employ- 
ment and  wages  are  abundant  to 
those  who  desire  them.  But  this 
credit  system,  once  introduced,  has 
spread  like  a  weed,  destroying  the  in- 
dustry and  independence  of  a  natural- 
ly honest  people." 

"What  did  Jack  mean  by  saying 
you  could  soon  own  all  the  land 
around  you?" 

"  That  we  might  sell  goods  to  these 
men  until  every  acre  they  now  own 
was  covered  with  debt,  and  sheriff 
sales  had  reduced  them  to  beggary. 
But  by  insisting  upon  monthly  settle- 
ments, the  honest  will  be  made  frugal, 
and  the  dishonest  restrained." 

"  Maybe  they  will  take  their  cus- 
tom elsewhere,  my  far-seeing,  self-sac- 
rificing merchant !" 

"Perhaps  so;  but  I  hope  to  show 
them  the  mutual  benefit  of  indepen- 
dence. How  it  degrades  these  free- 
hearted, free  -  spoken  lumbermen  to 
fawn  around  a  rich  man  begging  his 
favor  !  They  should  be  as  self-reliant 
as  these  hills — as  unflinching  in  their 
integrity  as  these  rocks !" 

"  You  wax  eloquent,  ma  belle.  How 
your  eyes  shine,  O  champion  of  lib- 
erty !  I  could  fancy  you  leading  an 
armed  host  on  to  victory." 

"  I  can  only  fancy  myself  stimulat- 


ing the  self-respect  and  encouraging 
the  ambition  of  a  few  laborers ;  but 
in  these  stalwart,  loud-voiced  men 
and  women,  I  see  courage,  energy,  in- 
telligence, which,  developed,  will  be  a 
power  in  the  land  for  good ;  if  re- 
pressed, will  be  idleness,  despondency, 
and  poverty  :  if  misdirected,  will  grow 
into  recklessness,  craftiness,  and  mis- 
ery." 

"And  that  is  why  you  will  not  sell 
your  inheritance,  and  go  where  you 
would  find  more  congenial  associ- 
ates ?" 

"  Yes.  You  remember  Jamie's  last 
words;  his  work  and  his  lands  seem 
an  equal  heritage  to  me." 

A  sudden  silence  fell  between  them, 
and  the  southern  breeze  filled  the 
room  with  the  fragrance  of  spring 
flowers. 

"  Dora,  what  day  do  you  think  our 
boys  will  come  ?  Did  the  postscript, 
which  slipped  away  so  mysteriously, 
say  nothing  more  definite?  Ah,  if 
Davy  could  see  that  blush  !" 

"  What  a  tease  you  can  be,  Mira ! 
I  believe  all  the  stories  Davy  writes 
of  your  mischief  when  a  child.  No  ; 
you  are  as  well  informed  of  their  plans 
as  I.  They  are  coming  from  Galves- 
ton  to  New  York  by  steamer." 

"They  may  telegraph  their  arrival." 

"  No  ;  they  will  just  walk  in  some 
evening  when  my  flowers  are  all 
faded,  the  larder  empty,  and  our  work 
scattered  about." 

"  There  is  only  one  way  to  prevent, 
Dora.  I  will  keep  the  larder  supplied; 
you  replenish  the  vases  every  day;  and 
we  will  keep  our  rooms  in  order." 

"  'A  second  Solomon !  O  wiso 
young  judge,  how  I  do  honor  thee  I'" 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


165 


"  I  have  made  the  proposal  to  Bes- 
sie's cousin.  She  comes  Monday." 

"I  am  glad  of  that.  You  have 
been  kitchen-maid  long  enough,  con- 
sidering you  are  an  heiress.  Morris 
says  you  are  worth  four  hundred  thou- 
sand dollars." 

" Me?  If  I  am  not  worth  more 
than  units  and  ciphers  can  express, 
I  am  poor  indeed  !  But  money  is 
power,  and  I  am  glad  to  possess  it. 
I  see  so  much  good  to  be  accomplish- 
ed by  it." 

"A  new  house  built,  for  instance." 

"  Yes,  if  it  can  be  done  without  de- 
stroying this  room.  These  walls — 
this  furniture — are  more  sacred  to  me 
than  church  or  cathedral.  Jack  has  a 
plan  to  submit  to  our  boys  when  they 
come.  I  would  not  like  large  rooms. 
I  should  be  lonely  in  them  when  Davy 
takes  you  away,  as  I  presume  he  will. 
And  yet  I  want  a  large  space  that 
can  be  brilliantly  lighted  and  warmed 
witli  open  fires,  to  entertain  large  com- 
panies— the  workmen  and  their  fam- 
ilies occasionally,  and  other  parties 
when  I  choose.  Then,  when  Davy 
and  his  wrife,  and  Theodore  and  his 
wife  come  to  see  me,  I  want  nice,  well- 
furnished  rooms  for  them." 

"Theo'swife,Mira?" 

"And  so  I  shall  need  a  spacious 
mansion,"  Miriam  continued,  with 
heightened  color,  "  and  several  rooms 
with  movable  partitions,  sliding  doors, 
Japanese  screens,  or  something  of  that 
kind.  Davy  may  have  some  new 
ideas." 

"  What  has  become  of  the  merchant 
with  a  Hebrew  countenance  who  was 
to  come  here  this  spring  ?  I  hear 
nothing  more  about  him." 


"He  was  shown  the  plans  for  our 
new  store,  informed  that  the  timber 
was  at  the  mill,  and  the  carpenters 
coming  next  week." 

"And  did  that  scare  him  off?" 

"  That,  and  the  announcement  that 
the  stock  would  be  double  the  present 
amount,  and  the  store  would  be  open- 
ed with  a  new  name." 

"  What— Miriam  Morgan  ?" 

"No:  Rodgers  &  Morgan." 

"Jack?" 

"Of  course." 

"Well,  indeed!" 

"  It  is  time  his  services  were  appre- 
ciated. He  could  have  received  dou- 
ble the  salary  father  has  given  him 
by  going  to  the  city;  but  he  stayed 
here  because  we  needed  him.  Here- 
after it  shall  be  for  his  interest  to 
stay." 

"  That  will  make  his  mother  happy. 
But  if  he  asks  to  be  partner  in  a 
wider  sense — a  nearer  connection  ?" 

"Dora,  Jack  and  I  understand  each 
other.  We  settled  that  long  ago. 
We  tried  to  be  as  brother  and  sister ; 
but  the  feeling  lacked  something  and 
possessed  something  not  belonging  to 
that  relation.  Now  we  are  friends  in 
the  truest  sense  of  that  word." 

"An  unsatisfactory  relation." 

"To  some  people,  in  most  circum- 
stances, but  the  best  possible  to  us. 
Think,  Dora ;  I  could  not  marry  Jack. 
Good  as  we  know  he  is,  his  very  good- 
ness would  weary  me,  it  is  so  common- 
place. His  inelegance,  which  I  do  not 
mind'  in  Jack,  would  annoy  and  dis- 
gust me  in  a  husband.  The  rare, 
gentle  caresses  he  gives  me  are  very 
sweet.  If  more  frequent,  or  more  fer- 
vent, they  would  fill  me  with  loath- 


166 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


illy  mated  to  my  flights  of  fancy,  my 
luxurious  tastes,  my  earnest  beliefs." 

"But  if  you  meet  some  one  just 
adapted  to  your  views  of  life  —  one 
who  could  sympathize  with  your  po- 
etic fancies?" 

"I  never  have.  I  do  not  think  I 
ever  will  You  are  thinking  of  your 
brother,  Dora.  Oh,  you  thought  your- 
self very  sly !  Now,  sister  dear,  I 
admire  Theo  very  much ;  I  enjoy  his 
society ;  we  have  many  ideas  and  as- 
pirations in  common ;  but  if  he  should 
ask  me  to  be  his  wife,  I  would  wish 
we  had  never  met !  Dora,  I  have  my 
own  life  to  live,  unfettered  by  any 
promise  that  could  bind  my  future.  I 
have  my  own  duties  to  perform,  un- 
hindered by  any  human.  A  man  who 
would  enter  my  life  to  obey  my  will 
and  carry  out  my  plans,  I  would  not 
marry ;  and  one  who  has  his  own 
ideas  and  purposes  to  develop,  I  could 
not  marry.  So  you  see,  dear,  I  am  to 
round  and  perfect  my  life  into  a  sym- 
metrical whole:  while  you,  poor  de- 
luded creature,  are  satisfied  to  become 
the  better  half  of  a  real  human  man. 
Now  I  must  go  and  decoct  some  dain- 
ties for  the  larder,  and  leave  you  to 
decorate  the  rooms." 

The  next  day  brought  the  travel- 
lers. The  welcome  the  girls  gave  was 
intended  to  recompense  them  for  long- 
missed  caresses,  and  atone  for  the 
mother's  kisses  they  would  never 
again  know.  Mr.  Morgan's  feeble  in- 
tellect recognized  them  both,  and  he 
tried  to  utter  some  word  of  welcome, 
but  his  palsied  tongue  gave  only  a 
low,  inarticulate  sound,  and  his  hand 
could  not  return  their  greeting. 


"How  long  has  father  been  in  this 
deplorable  condition?"  Davy  inquired. 

"Almost  two  years.  I  wrote  to 
you  of  it." 

"The  letter  was  never  received. 
Both  your  letters  and  Dora's  have 
spoken  of  him  as  an  invalid,  but  I 
had  no  idea  he  could  be  so  helpless. 
What  caused  it  ?" 

"  He  had  worked  and  worried  more 
than  usual ;  many  debts  pressed  him 
heavily,  and  collections  were  hard  to 
make.  He  was  settling  a  long-stand- 
ing account  with  some  men  in  the 
store ;  some  entries  were  disputed,  and 
he  became  very  much  excited  ;  began 
to  stammer  and  falter  in  his  speech, 
then  dropped  helplessly  to  the  floor. 
We  thought  he  was  dead  when  they 
brought  him  in ;  but  day  by  day  he 
has  improved,  until  he  is  what  you 
now  see  him — a  restless  soul,  with  a 
feeble  mind  in  a  helpless  body." 

"  Will  he  never  get  well  ?" 

"No;  the  physicians  say  he  will 
never  get  better.  They  think  he  had 
a  slight  attack  some  time  ago.  Now* 
he  is  only  waiting  the  third  and  last, 
which  is  to  set  him  free." 

"And  you,  dear  sister,  have  all  this 
to  bear !" 

She  looked  up  with  a  calm  smile  on 
her  fair  face.  "It  is  a  part  of  my 
heritage,  Davy." 

"And  is  he  patient?" 

"  Usually ;  with  that  repressed,  re- 
gretful look  on  his  face  that  makes 
me  long  to  tell  him  the  past  is  all 
forgiven;  that  his  liabilities  are  dis- 
charged, his  credit  redeemed,  and  his 
chief  ambition  gratified.  Oh,  how  I 
wish  he  could  feel  the  love  and  sym- 
pathy I  have  longed  all  my  life  to 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


167 


give  him !  But  if  our  affection  is  de- 
sired or  reciprocated,  we  can  never 
know  it  now." 

"Did  not  the  loss  of  Jamie  and 
mother  soften  him  ?" 

"Not  outwardly.  The  tears,  which 
should  have  fallen,  seemed  to  congeal 
in  his  heart.  Suffering  irritated  him ; 
when  thwarted,  he  grew  defiant.  His 
thoughts,  ambitions,  affections,  seemed 
all  absorbed  in  the  one  desire  to  get 
property." 

"Yes,  and  his  daily  demand  was 
always  my  will  be  done.  Yet  he  used 
to  talk  of  slaving  himself  to  death 
for  his  family,  when  an  hour's  par- 
ticipation in  our  sports,  any  appre- 
ciation of  our  desires  and  pleasures, 
would  have  been  worth  more  to  us 
than  all  the  forests  and  farms  in  the 
county.  I  suppose  he  excused  him- 
self to  his  reason  and  conscience  by 
thinking  of  the  good  the  money 
would  do  us  in  our  old  age.  He  was 
putting  us  through  purgatory  that 
we  might  enjoy  heaven ;  which  sounds 
orthodox." 

They  talked  of  the  condition  of  the 
property,  of  which  Davy  steadily  re- 
fused a  share.  Of  the  needed  improve- 
ments in  mills  and  on  farms. 

"I  am  running  the  tannery  on  half- 
time  now,"  Miriam  said, "  as  leather  is 
falling.  But  all  of  the  best  hands  are 
kept;  having  comfortable  houses  and 
large  gardens  rent  free,  with  oppor- 
tunities of  doing  odd  jobs  about  the 
home  farm.  Have  you  noticed  the 
new  street  ?" 

"  Yes ;  how  the  place  has  improved  ! 
Do  you  rent  those  Gothic  cottages  ?" 

"They  belong  to  the  tannery.  I 
noticed  some  of  the  little  houses  in 


the  Row  were  neatly  kept,  with  an 
attempt  at  flower -culture  before  the 
door.  So  I  had  a  new  street  laid  out 
farther  up  the  hill,  and  the  first  cot- 
tage was  built  at  a  venture.  Rob- 
erts was  directed  to  move  in;  and 
while  the  place  was  neatly  kept,  and 
his  work  satisfactory,  the  house  and 
lot  were  free  of  rent.  Then  another, 
as  pretty  and  convenient,  but  slighly 
different  in  appearance,  was  built,  and 
Henderson  moved  in.  The  men  un- 
dei*stood  it  was  a  reward  of  merit, 
and  the  Row  began  to  impi-ove  in  ap- 
pearance ;  rubbish  disappeared,  and 
by  the  time  my  six  cottages  were  oc- 
cupied the  twenty  little  houses  in  the 
Row  were  vastly  improved.  Then  I 
began  to  help  them,  and  the  women 
and  children  were  delighted.  For  a 
month  the  bell  for  quitting  work  rang 
at  five  instead  of  six  o'clock,  and, 
through  the  long  summer  evenings, 
hammers  and  saws,  whitewash  and 
paint-brushes,  were  kept  busy.  .Ev- 
ery house  has  now  a  summer  kitchen 
and  wood -house;  nearly  all  have  a 
porch  and  blinds ;  and  each  one  has  a 
white  fence  enclosing  a  garden,  two 
shade -trees,  and  some  flowers.  Mor- 
ris declares  the  men  finished  off  more 
first-class  leather  that  month  than 
ever  before ;  though  he  grumbled  con- 
siderably over  that  lost  hour  when  I 
gave  the  order." 

"Does  the  reading-room  still  ex- 
ist?" 

"There  are  two.  One  has  daily 
and  local  papers,  with  agricultural 
journals  and  popular  magazines :  this 
is  self-supporting.  The  other  has  re- 
ligious and  scientific  journals,  maps, 
charts,  and  desks  for  writing.  Our 


168 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


old  picnic -ground  has  been  cleared, 
and  named  Our  Park.  There  the 
women  bring  their  children  and  work ; 
the  boys  and  girls  play,  and  their 
mothers  gossip  over  their  sewing." 

"A  real  Arcadia,  Miriam." 

"Not  at  all.  These  people  have 
little  resemblance  to  the  half-  clad 
shepherds  playing  on  their  lutes.  Do 
not  think  they  have  become  angelic. 
They  have  their  quarrels  and  preju- 
dices. Jack's  patience  is  often  ex- 
hausted by  their  unreasonable  de- 
mands; and  the  children  vex  Dora's 
righteous  soul  from  day  to  day." 

"Morris  has  charge  of  the  tan- 
nery?" 

"Yes;  and  Sam  Jenkins  of  the 
mill.  They  each  own  their  houses 
and  four  acres  of  land  around  them. 
Jane  Rodgers's  husband  is  team-boss, 
and  her  mother  lives  with  them.  But 
I  see  father  is  getting  tired,  and  Jack 
has  come  to  put  him  to  bed." 

The  paralytic's  chair  was  wheeled 
from  the  room,  and  the  brothers  and 
sisters  gathered  around  the  melodcon. 
Jack  soon  joined  them,  and  his  violin 
gave  a  pi-elude  to  each  verse  of  Mir- 
iam's song. 

"  Home  once  more  ! 

Welcome  back  to  tree-crowned  mountains, 
Welcome  to  their  pure  sweet  fountains, 

Home  once  more. 
Welcome  to  the  fragrant  \vild\vood 
Where  we  wandered  in  our  childhood 

As  of  yore.     Home  once  more. 

"Just  the  same 

Rolls  the  deep,  transparent  river : 
On  its  waves  the  moonbeams  quiver 

Just  the  same. 

Crickets  chirr,  and  \\hippoorwill, 
Calling  from  the  distant  hill, 

Are  in  name  just  the  same. 


"  Yet,  how  changed  ! 
In  the  old  familiar  places 
We  see  not  the  loving  faces. 

We  are  changed : 
And  with  sad  and  weary  yearning, 
Life's  hard  lessons  we  are  learning —    • 

Oh  how  strange  seems  the  change ! 

"Where  are  they 

Who  once  shared  in  all  our  gladness  ? — 
Counselled  us  in  all  our  sadness  ? 

Where  are  they  ? 

While  each  heart  in  praise  rejoices, 
We  are  listening  for  their  voices. 

Tell  me,  pray — where  are  they  ? 

"All  are  here. 
Not  in  shadows  of  the  room, 
Not  in  chilling  midnight  gloom, 

Are  they  here ; 

But  in  words  our  hearts  still  cherish, 
Deeds  which  nevermore  shall  perish, 

They  are  here,  ever  near." 

The  sweet  thrilling  voice  ceased 
suddenly.  Then  the  fingers  glided 
over  the  keys,  and  the  violin  caught 
up  the  strain, 

"Home,  sweet  home." 

Other  old  favorites  followed,  until  the 
clock  on  the  mantel  told  them  it  was 
time  for  retiring. 

"  Can  I  have  my  old  quarters  in  the 
store  ?"  Davy  asked. 

"Yes:  Dora  and  I  have  prepared 
it  for  both  you  and  Theo,  if  you  pre- 
fer it." 

"  You  knew  I  would :  I  haven't 
slept  in  the  house  since  I  outgrew  my 
trundle-bed." 

"It  will  seem  much  more  like  old 
times  to  me  also,"  said  Theodore. 

Good-night  kisses  were  exchanged, 
and  the  three  young  men  left  the 
house,  Montgomery  accompanying 
Davy  to  the  room  he  and  Jamie  had 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


169 


occupied  since  boyhood.  None  of 
their  old  treasures  had  been  removed. 
"Ah,  here  is  my  old  rifle,  and  there 
is  my  Minerva,"  pointing  to  an  owl 
perched  above  the  mirror.  "I  took 
that  bird  from  its  nest  and  tamed  it, 
so  'twould  come  to  me  when  I  called 
its  name.  How  mother  has  laughed 
when  seeing  me  stand  on  the  gate- 
post, with  a  string  of  fish  in  my  hand, 
yelling  '  Minerva  !  Minerva  !'  She 
told  me  whenever  I  worked  as  hard, 
and  called  as  earnestly  for  wisdom, 
I  would  become  an  astonishingly 
learned  man.  My  owl  died  at  last : 
so  I  tried  taxidermy  on  her,  and  put 
her  over  the  looking-glass.  And  here 
are  Jamie's  books.  How  near  he 
seems!  —  as  if  he  might  enter  the 
room  this  moment,  with  the  old  greet- 
ing and  cheering  smile.  With  fa- 
ther's quick  temper  born  in  both,  we 
never  quarrelled  but  once.  Then  we 
each  wanted  the  same  thing,  and  from 
words  came  to  blows.  I  had  just 
raised  my  fist  to  strike  back,  when 
some  one  caught  my  hand.  It  was 
mother.  Oh  my,  how  she  looked  ! 
Pale,  stern,  with  such  a  grieved  ex- 
pression in  her  eyes,  she  led  us  to  her 
room,  and,  kneeling  down  with  Jamie 
on  one  side  and  I  on  the  other,  she 
prayed.  I  shall  remember  that  prayer 
if  I  forget  my  name  !  We  were  both 
crying  when  she  rose.  Then  she 
made  us  shake  hands  with  each  other, 
and  ask  forgiveness.  That  was  pret- 
ty severe.  I  remember  Jamie  hung 
back  a  little,  but  finally  he  got  it  out : 
'I'm  sorry,  Dave;  pi-please  for-gim- 
me.'  Of  course  I  could  say  it  after 
him ;  and  then  we  had  to  kiss  each 
other.  That  was  a  hard  one  for  me. 


I  thought  kissing  rather  unmanly  at 
any  time;  but  to  be  forced  to  kiss 
my  brother  when  I  was  mad  at  him — 
for  neither  of  us  was  quite  conquer- 
ed— that  was  rough.  But  we  had  to 
do  it ;  and  the  instant  our  lips  touch- 
ed, why,  I  loved  Jamie  as  I  never  had 
before  !  He  should  have  my  top  and 
marbles,  and  everything  he  wanted ; 
and  we  ran  off  together  the  two  hap- 
piest boys  in  the  country.  We  had 
many  a  disagreement  after  that,  as 
boys  will;  but  never  again  did  he 
give  me  an  unkind  word.  Oh,  Jamie  ! 
oh,  mother !" 

Davy  threw  himself  on  the  bed,  and 
turned  his  face  to  the  wall.  A  long 
silence,  in  which  each  thought  the 
other  sleeping,  was  broken  by  a  mut- 
tered exclamation  from  Montgomery : 

"  If  I  only  could ;  but  it's  no  use  !" 

"  Could  what,  Theo  ?" 

"  Oh,  you  are  awake,  Davy  ?  I  was 
thinking  of  your  sister.  If  I  could 
only  win  her,  life  would  be  worth 
living;  but  there's  no  use  trying  !" 

"She  likes  you, Theo." 

"  Yes ;  I  presume  she  likes  a  dozen 
just  as  well !  She  seems  to  have  no 
thought  of  marriage." 

"  The  fact  is,  Theo,  she  is  too  busy 
to  think  of  lovers ;  and  she  never  felt 
a  lack  of  love." 

"Dora  told  me  she  had  received 
many  offers  of  marriage,  but  declined 
them  all.  She  said  men  were  contin- 
ually mistaking  her  courteous,  confi- 
dential manner  for  love,  and  her  ear- 
nest sympathy  for  a  special  prefer- 
ence; not  seeing  her  in  general  society 
enough  to  know  it  was  Miriam's  way. 
The  homage  of  many  is  worth  more 
to  her  than  the  devotion  of  one." 


170 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


"Don't  get  bitter,  Theo.  You 
know  nothing  would  suit  me  better 
than  to  see  Miriam  your  wife ;  but — " 

"  I  understand ;  you  do  not  give 
me  much  hope.  Well,  I  shall  not 
make  a  fool  of  myself  by  whining. 
We  will  be  the  best  of  friends  always. 
I  will  win  and  hold  the  first  place  in 
her  esteem ;  and  if  she  ever  marries,  I 
am  confident  the  happy  man  will  be 
Theodore  Montgomery." 

"  Good.  Hurrah  for  you  !  Now 
let's  sleep  on  that  resolution." 

The  following  days  were  spent  in- 
specting the  tannery  and  mills,  sanc- 
tioning Miriam's  improvements,  and 
suggesting  further  alterations,  wan- 
dering through  the  woods  and  up  the 
brook,  hunting,  fishing,  picnicing  day 
after  day. 

"Davy,"  said  Miriam,  one  evening, 
after  Jack's  designs  for  the  new  house 
had  been  discussed  and  approved,  "I 
want  you  and  Dora  married  here. 
This  is  the  bride's  home.  Her  mam- 
ma is  too  much  of  an  invalid  to  care 
for  the  ceremony,  and  her  Uncle  Le- 
mar  can  come  here  if  he  will.  Now 
wait  until  you  are  established  in  busi- 
ness with  Uncle  Dave,  and  my  man- 
sion is  ready  for  guests,  and  we  will 
have  a  grand  wedding." 

He  looked  at  Dora. 

"I  think  that  a  good  plan,  Davy." 

"But  it  will  be  a  year  —  maybe 
two !" 

"  And  am  I  not  worth  working  and 
waiting  for  so  long?" 

"That  settles  it,  I  suppose,  and 
dooms  Uncle  Dave  and  I  to  months 
of  loneliness.  When  did  Aunt  Cla- 
rissa die  ?" 

"She  has  been  dead  to  all  society 


for  years.  No  one  but  her  nurse  and 
physician  were  allowed  to  approach 
her  .for  months.  About  five  months 
ago  she  breathed  her  last." 

"  Where  is  Miss  Caldwell  ?" 

"She  went  West  two  years  ago  as 
a  missionary  to  the  Indians;  and  we 
have  not  heard  a  word  from  her  since. 
I  fear  the  rough  life  has  proved  too 
much  for  her  delicate  form." 

"There  you  are  mistaken.  Fron- 
tier life  develops  and  hardens  delicate 
people,  if  there  is  any  vim  and  grit  in 
them;  and  Miss  Caldwell  has  both, 
with  a  keen  insight  into  human  nat- 
ure, and  some  faculty  of  adapting  her- 
self to  circumstances.  She  never  had 
half  a  chance  to  develop  her  good 
qualities  among  a  set  of  school-girls." 

"  Well,  I'm  sure  we  exercised  her 
tact  and  patience  to  the  utmost,"  said 
Dora ;  "  but  you  speak  as  though  you 
knew  her." 

"  I  do,  by  good  report.  About  ten 
leagues  from  San  Antone  is  a  tempo- 
rary mission  for  a  tribe  of  Comanches. 
A  lady  has  charge,  and  I  am  certain 
it  is  our  Miss  Caldwell.  I  will  ask 
Uncle  Dave." 

"He  does  not  know,  Davy.  He 
wrote  to  Miriam  asking  her  address." 

"Then  she  determined  to  bury 
herself,  did  she  ?  I  fancy  I  can  see 
through  that.  Poor  Uncle  Dave ! 
poor,  conscientious  little  teacher ! 
But  that  will  come  out  right,  I'm  sure 
it  will.  I'm  provoked  at  myself  for 
never  riding  over  to  the  Mission. 
Captain  Hyde  did  frequently,  and 
was  always  talking  of  Miss  Caldwell. 
Though  I  recognized  the  name,  and 
the  captain's  description  reminded  me 
of  her,  yet  I  did  not  suppose  it  could 


MIRIAM'S   HERITAGE. 


171 


be  your  preceptress.  Now,  however, 
I  ain  sure  it  is.  Here's  a  romance 
for  your  next  novel,  Dora.  Sequel : 
uncle  leaves  me  in  charge  of  busi- 
ness, and  goes  to  the  South-west  for 
his  health.  He  is  captured  by  the 
Indians ;  they  tear  off  his  garments, 
discover  a  gold  trinket  suspended  from 
his  neck  ;  they  break  it  open,  and  are 
appalled  by  the  face  of  their  teacher 
— their  angel — looking  reproachfully 
into  their  eyes;  they  prostrate  them- 
selves before  their  captive;  they  re- 
robe  him ;  they  convey  him  to  the 
Mission  and  present  him  as  a  free-will 
offering  to  their  adored  missionary. 
That  is  so  like  the  Indians — of  a  ro- 
mance !" 

"  The  plot  does  very  well  so  far ; 
but  I  see  no  need  of  introducing  the 
hero's  business  partner  into  the  ro- 
mance," said  Dora,  laughingly. 

"  No,  Davy,"  added  Miriam,  "  you 
should  be  satisfied  to  live  in  Dora's 
history.  How  perfectly  delightful  it 
will  be  if  our  hopes  are  realized — you 
and  uncle  settled  in  Philadelphia,  and 
Fred  and  Theo  in  New  York  !  I  can 
spend  a  part  of  each  winter  with  you, 
and  you  will  all  come  here  for  the 
summer.  You  can  treat  me  to  opera, 
concert,  lecture,  and  drama,  and  I  will 
supply  you  with  butter,  berries,  and 
game.  Jack,  show  Theo  your  designs 
for  the  church.  You  know  the  site, 
Theo  ?" 

"  Yes ;  it  was  to  that  point  I  carried 
Birdie  Thistledown  once  upon  a  time. 
Just  there  she  sprang  from  my  arms 
and  flew  away.  This  front  is  grand, 
Jack.  I  did  not  suspect  you  of  being 
an  architect." 

"Oh,  I'm  a  jack-of-all-trades   and 


master  o'  none.  Mis'  Morgan  used 
to  be  always  talking  'bout  having  a 
church  here,  an'  I  began  to  sketch 
plans  for  her.  Every  time  I  went 
down  the  river  I'd  go  and  see  some 
cathedral  or  big  building,  an'  study 
up  their  'coustics  an'  arkytexyer. 
Las'  spring  Fred  an'  me  went  up  the 
North  River  a  ways,  an'  see  a  church 
they're  puttin'  up,  to  cost  more  'n 
a  hundred  thousand  dollars.  An' 
'twon't  be  so  pretty  as  ours,  after 
all.  Mister  Morgan  is  agoin'  to  fur- 
nish a  memorial  window,  an'  Fred 
says  he'll  send  us  the  pulpit  an'  altar. 
Now,  you'd  better  give  us  the  carpet 
and  cushions." 

"Jack,"  Miriam  said,  quickly,  com- 
ing to  the  table,  "  will  you  see  Sam 
Jenkins  about  those  shade -trees?  I 
want  them  set  out  this  fall — maples 
from  Morris's  house  to  the  end  of  the 
Row,  and  pines  the  entire  length  of 
Cottage  Avenue.  Can  you  think  how 
pretty  our  village  will  be,  Theo,  with 
the  vivid  coloring  of  the  maples  on 
the  lower  road  overlapping  the  ever- 
greens higher  up  the  hill,  and  the 
houses  through  the  trees  ?" 

"Yes,  Miriam, it  is  a  beautiful  place ; 
but,  with  all  your  improvements,  it 
cannot  be  more  charming  than  when 
I  first  saw  it." 

"No,  I  do  not  expect  that.  No 
landscape  could  be  lovelier  than  the 
view  from  that  hillside.  I  remember 
standing  there,  with  Bruce  by  my 
side,  long  years  ago,  and  thinking 
what  a  delight  that  scene  must  give 
its  Creator." 

They  walked  to  the  window  facing 
the  moonlit  valley.  "I  cannot  make 
the  scene  more  beautiful  than  when 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


you  first  saw  it.  To  make  beauty 
keep  pace  with  utility  is  a  constant 
study.  How  strange  seems  the  law 
which  destroys  the  lower  to  build  the 
higher  !  To  create,  we  must  destroy. 
Our  stone-quarry  has  ruined  that  love- 
ly cascade ;  our  lumber  trade  is  ruin- 
ing our  forests.  Art  and  science  are 
built  on  the  ruins  of  nature,  and  yet 
they  perpetuate  nature  in  more  effec- 
tive forms." 

"How? — here,  I  mean — how  does 
your  mill  and  tannery,  destroying  so 
much  loveliness,  serve  to  perpetuate 
or  elevate  nature  ?" 

"  This  little  valley  is  a  small  bit  of 
God's  manufactory,  Theodore ;  and 
these  men  and  their  labor  resemble 
artists  and  art  —  as  the  iron  ore  re- 
sembles the  engine.  Yet  because  we 
are,  they  are." 

"  We  !  How  you  identify  yourself 
with  your  surroundings !  I  never 
thought  so  imaginative  a  child  could 
become  so  practical  a  woman." 

"  Nor  I,  Theo ;  but  in  accepting  the 
inevitable,  I  strive  constantly  to  make 
the  best  of  it,  which  means  much  to 
me,  infusing  the  ideal  into  the  real. 
So,  while  these  people  are  practical 
plodders,  they  may  become  earnest 
thinkers.  Each  human  is  a  trinity, 
Theodore.  We  have  the  physical,  in- 
tellectual, and  spiritual  natures  com- 
bined. Each  of  us  is  stronger  in  one 
than  the  others.  As  some  seeds  de- 
velop roots  before  expanding  into 
leaves  or  blossoms,  so  most  people 
expand  their  consciousness  from  the 
lower  nature  into  the  higher.  Bes- 
sie's little  Mary  is  a  child  whose  spir- 
itual nature  seems  out  of  all  propor- 
tion to  her  physical  and  mental.  She 


cannot  reason;  she  only  feels.  Al- 
ready she  sees  visions  and  dreams 
dreams.  She  must  take  deeper  root, 
or  earth  cannot  hold  her  long." 

"  Do  you  regard  such  a  being  as  the 
highest  order  of  creation  ?" 

"The  highest  is  the  most  useful. 
The  being  best  fitted  to  its  sphere, 
most  in  harmony  with  its  surround- 
ings, must  be  the  highest,  I  think.  In 
that  sense  little  Mary  is  certainly  not 
the  best  type  of  our  species.  Yet 
she  is  necessary  to  counterbalance  the 
physical  in  her  parents.  Have  you 
seen  Big  Bill  walk  about  the  place 
with  that  child  in  his  arms  ?" 

"Several  times.  "What  a  contrast 
she  is  to  the  big,  burly  fellow.  He  is 
very  tender  of  her." 

"She  teaches  him  many  things. 
The  shrewd,  sagacious  fellow  never 
noticed  the  difference  between  the 
rustle  of  the  oak  and  the  whisper  of 
the  hemlock,  never  saw  the  mimic  for- 
ests among  mosses,  or  the  down  on 
a  butterfly,  till  she  discovered  them. 
The  Lord's  earth  is  lovelier  since  this 
gentle  interpreter  came  to  their  home." 

"  "What  do  you  think  of  the  evolu- 
tion theory,  Mira  ?" 

"  I  see  how  things  are  evolved — the 
higher  from  the  lower ;  and  I  see  how 
things  are  involved — the  higher  into 
the  lower.  Science  goes  up  step  by 
step,  tracing  the  development  of  nat- 
ure to  its  source.  Revelation  shows 
the  spirit  infused  downward,  step  by 
step,  into  the  lowest  forms  of  exist- 
ence: the  development  of  the  min- 
eral into  the  vegetable  kingdom,  the 
growth  of  the  vegetable  into  the  animal 
kingdom.  This  is  no  myth  to  me ;  for 
as  I  take  the  tiniest  grass -blade  or 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


173 


frailest  insect  iii  my  hand,  I  see  vitali- 
ty, and  trace  it  back  to  God.  Begin 
with  this  triune  being,  man,"  she  con- 
tinued, smiling  up  in  his  face, "  in  whom 
the  Creator  breathed  eternal  life,  and 
trace  the  flow  of  the  infinite  downward ; 
or  begin  with  the  zoophyte,  and  trace 
the  development  upward,  what  differ- 
ence in  the  conclusions  ?  We  only 
trace  two  sides  of  an  oblong  circle." 

"Then  our  failing  to  comprehend 
the  subject  is  caused  by  believing  too 
little,  not  too  much." 

"I  think  so.  Many  things  ceased 
to  be  mysteries  to  me  when  I  dropped 
the  leading-strings  of  prejudice,  and 
walked  on  untrammelled.  My  reason 
rules  my  intellectual  nature,  but  my 
spiritual  is  guided  by  faith ;  so  I  be- 
lieve what  I  cannot  understand." 

"You  always  used  to  demand  the 
what  and  why  of  everything,"  said 
Theodore. 

"  Yes ;  and  was  a  great  annoyance 
to  every  teacher  but  my  mother,  who 
always  encouraged  my  inquiries.  She 
taught  me  how  the  sensations  which 
enter  the  five  gates  leading  to  the 
mind  are  transformed  into  thoughts ; 
and  I  have  since  learned  how  they 
travel  through  the  avenues  of  the 
mind  out  into  the  highways  of  one's 
spiritual  nature,  on,  on  beyond  our 
power  of  speech.  Then,  when  fretted 
by  the  limits  of  expression,  I  console 
myself  with  the  surety  of  stepping  out 
of  the  physical  into  the  celestial  body 
by-and-by." 

"  Do  you  ever  wish  to  die,  Mira  ?" 

"  No ;  I  love  this  life.  It  is  grand, 
glorious !" 

"  Do  you  remember  those  inspiring 
words  of  Mary  Hewitt's: 


"  '  Oh,  how  I  long  to  die ! 

To  be  among  the  stars,  the  glorious  stars ! 

To  have  no  bounds  to  knowledge  ; 

To  drink  deep  of  crystal  fountains ; 

To  be  among  the  good,  the  wise,  the  glorified.' 

How  often  I  have  repeated  those 
lines  when  lying  upon  my  hammock 
facing  a  Southern  sky !" 

"They  are  beautiful;  but  I  would 
alter  the  first  line : 

" '  Oh  how  I  long  to  live  and  grow  among  the 
stars!' 

Death,  decay,  are  repugnant  to  me.  I 
am  only  reconciled  to  their  necessity 
by  seeing  how  quickly  the  vitality  of 
the  living  transforms  the  dead  atoms 
into  new  forms.  But  see !  Jack  has 
fallen  asleep  on  the  lounge,  and  Dora 
and  Davy  have  left  us.  Metaphysics 
are  uninteresting  to  them." 

She  drew  back  the  muslin  curtains, 
and  the  moonlight  and  vine  shadows 
played  upon  the  floor. 

"See,  Theo,  how  lovingly  the  light 
rests  upon  that  hillside  and  glistens 
on  that  marble  column !  All  around 
are  the  dark,  still  woods;  but  that 
little  spot  is  not  gloomy.  Ah !  what 
a  transition  that  monument  records ! 
Death  -is  swallowed  up  in  victory." 

"Are  you  reconciled  to  everything, 
Mira?" 

"I  can  trust  where  I  cannot  com- 
prehend, Theo !  But  my  life  seems 
natural,  harmonious.  Their  work  is 
now  mine  5  and  each  day  brings 
strength,  zeal,  courage,  content.  I 
am  fitted  to  my  work,  and  my  work 
fits  itself  to  me.  Jack  !" — she  cross- 
ed the  room  and  laid  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder — "  Jack,  you  know  you  have 
to  start  on  a  collecting  tour  early  to- 


174 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


morrow  morning.  Did  Mose  bring 
any  plugs  and  bows  to-day  ?" 

"Yes,"  Jack  answered,  rubbing  his 
eyes  and  yawning.  "He  brought 
about  a  hunderd,  and  got  a  sack  of 
flour  and  a  chunk  of  pork.  Said  ef 
I'd  let  him  have  a  pair  o'  boots  he'd 
pay  for  'em  in  honey:  he'd  lined  a 
bee-tree  lately.  I  told  him  he  prom- 
ised to  pay  for  the  hat  he  had  on  with 
eels,  but  he  went  an'  sold  all  his  fish 
to  the  depot !  An'  he  was  goin'  to 
give  us  maple-sugar  for  his  coat,  but 
he  never  has.  He  is  the  laziest  coon 
ever  was.  Do  you  remember  him, 
Montgomery  ?" 

"  Perfectly.  Davy  and  I  stopped 
him  once  in  the  road  with  a  bundle  of 
grubs  on  his  shoulder,  and  got  him  to 
talking  of  his  last  bear-hunt ;  and  he 
actually  stood  there  thirty- five  min- 
utes talking,  with  that  load  on  his 
back:  forgot  all  about  it.  After  he 
brought  them  to  the  store,  we  put  the 
bundle  on  the  scales,  and  it  weigh- 
ed two  hundred  and  fifteen  pounds. 
Say,  Davy,  do  you  remember  that  ?" 

"Of course  I  do,"  Davy  answered, 
from  the  veranda,  leaning  in  the  low 
window.  "Mose  is  one  of  the  strong- 
est men  along  the  river;  he  can  fol- 
low a  deer  for  a  week,  carrying  his 
gun  and  a  pack  of  provisions  through 
laurel  -  thickets  and  underbrush ;  but 
to  think  of  hoeing  potatoes  or  piling 
lumber  tires  him.  Dora  has  four  of 
his  children  in  her  school,  and  she 
says  they  are  right  smart  children.  I 
reckon  the  new  stock  is  improved." 

Jack  gathered  up  his  books  and 
plans,  and  bade  them  good  -  night. 
Davy  and  Theodore  followed,  and  the 
white  mists  of  night  rose  from  the 


placid  river  and  enfolded  Woodbine 
Cottage. 

Another  week  brought  the  day  of 
parting.  The  brothers  were  to  enter 
new  scenes  of  business  and  the  sis- 
ters continue  the  routine  of  their  va- 
ried duties. 

"  Only  one  more  meal  together  be- 
fore Thanksgiving-day,"  Miriam  said, 
as,  after  breakfast,  they  gathered  on 
the  veranda.  "Liza,  wheel  father's 
chair  to  the  sunny  side  of  the  house, 
and  take  care  of  him  until  we  come 
home.  Now,  Davy,  let  us  go  up  to 
the  cemetery." 

They  walked  arm-in-arm  up  the  hill- 
side, Dora  and  her  brother  following, 
until  they  paused  beside  the  flower- 
clad  graves.  Across  the  valley,  on 
the  opposite  hillside,  were  the  two 
lines  of  cottages.  The  Gothic  fronts 
of  the  upper  tier  harmonized  with  the 
rocky  mountain  at  their  rear,  and  the 
white-and-green  prettiness  of  the  low- 
er row  blended  with  the  colors  of 
field  and  brook. 

Beside  the  mill  were  piles  of  lum- 
ber; the  pond  was  filled  with  logs; 
and  the  low  buzz  of  the  saw,  and 
briskly  stepping  men,  showed  business 
was  progressing  there.  Teams  draw- 
ing heavy  loads  of  bark  were  entering 
the  tannery -yard;  a  cloud  of  smoko 
from  the  tall  chimney  soared  away 
into  the  blue  sky ;  through  the  open 
door  of  the  store  Jack's  assistant 
could  be  seen  displaying  gay  prints 
to  some  girlish  customers ;  down  the 
winding  road  and  across  the  brook 
came  Mrs.  Rodgcrs,  the  only  un- 
changed figure  in  the  scene. 

"She  is  going  to  sit  with  father," 
said  Miriam.  "  Though  she  cannot 


MIRIAM'S  HERITAGE. 


175 


understand  what  he  tries  to  tell  her, 
he  seems  to  enjoy  her  presence.  Poor 
father  r 

For  a  long  time  they  sat  silent  be- 
side the  low  mounds  which  covered 
their  dead,  looking  at  the  vine- wreath- 
ed cottage  below  them,  and  thinking 
of  their  past. 

"Mira,"  said  Davy  at  last,  drawing 
a  blank-book  from  his  pocket, "  may  I 
read  these  verses  which  you  sent  me 
after  Jamie  died  ?  Theo  would  like 
to  hear  them,  and  they  seem  very  ap- 
propriate to  this  place  and  time." 

"You  may;  but  first  let  me  tell 
you  how  they  were  written,  and  why 
I  have  never  been  sure  whether  the 
lines  are  original  or  remembered.  I 
am  not  an  habitual  somnambulist; 
but  Dora  could  tell  you  of  my  solving 
a  mathematical  problem  once  in  my 
sleep  that  our  entire  class  failed  on 
the  day  before.  Another  time  I  fin- 
ished an  essay  with  a  verse  I  was  in- 
capable of  composing  when  awake. 
I  only  mention  these  incidents  as 
facts.  Some  day  I  shall  know  the 
subtle  influences  which  caused  them. 
After  Jamie  had  gone,  my  mind  was 
restless  and  excited  ;  I  slept  little,  and 
then  heavily.  One  morning  this  poem 
lay  upon  my  table.  Dora  said  I  arose 
and,  without  lighting  the  lamp,  sat  for 
a  long  time,  with  my  portfolio  in  my 
lap  and  my  head  resting  on  one  hand, 
apparently  writing." 

"Have  you  offered  them  for  publi- 
cation?" 

"No,  Davy;  such  thoughts  seem 
sacred  to  myself  and  my  best  friends. 
You  may  read  them  to  us,  if  you  will." 

And  while  the  sounds  of  industry 
in  the  valley  below  mingled  with  the 


whisper  of  the  pine-trees  around  them, 
and  the  blue  waters  of  the  Delaware 
flowed  calmly  and  swiftly  by,  Davy 
read  these  lines  : 

"PASSING  AWAY. 
"  O  River  of  Time,  how  ceaselessly 
Thou  flowest  on  to  the  boundless  sea ! 
Whether  upon  thy  glittering  tide 
The  sweet  spring  blossoms  drop  and  glide, 
Or  whether  the  fierce  winds  lash  thy  waves, 
And  dead  leaves  foil  to  their  watery  graves ; 
Whether  we  wake,  or  whether  we  sleep, 
Thou  hasteth  on  to  Eternity's  deep. 

"With  sunshine  and  shadow  life's  sweet  May, 
My  childhood,  silently  floated  away. 
The  summer  rose  is  in  its  prime, 
And  youth  floats  by  on  the  stream  of  time. 
The  hours,  whether  sunny  or  overcast, 
Are  flitting  away  to  the  changeless  past ; 
But  I  mark  their  flight  by  a  smile  of  cheer, 
And  not  by  a  sigh  or  a  falling  tear. 

"  So  often,  so  sadly,  we  hear  men  say 
'  Passing  away !  still  passing  away ! ' 
That  the  words  have  gathered  a  pensive  tone — 
With  a  shade  of  sadness  not  their  own. 
And  I  long  to  recall  these  words  again          • 
From  their  minor  key  on  the  lips  of  men ; 
And  make  the  refrain  of  my  gladdest  lay — 
Passing  away!  ever  passing  away ! 

" For  what  is  transient  and  what  will  last? 
What  maketh  its  grave  in  the  growing  past  ? 
And  what  lives  on  in  the  deathless  spheres 
Where  naught  corrupts  by  the  rust  of  years  ? 
Doth  Time,  who  gathers  our  fairest  flowers, 
Uproot  no  weeds  in  this  world  of  ours  ? 
What  rises  victorious  o'er  dull  decay  ? 
And  what  is  that  which  is  passing  away  ? 

"  The  year  is  flying.     The  hours  flit  by 
Like  morning  clouds  in  a  breezy  sky. 
But  Time  is  a  drop  in  the  boundless  sea 
Of  an  infinite  Eternity ! 
As  our  seas  are  spanned  by  the  arching  skies, 
'Neath  the  presence  of  God  that  ocean  lies ; 
And  though  tides  may  fall  in  life's  shallow  bay, 
Eternity  never  can  ebb  away." 


THE   END. 


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